


Trading Places

by iNiGmA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arabella Figg Auror, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Case Fic, Dimension Travel, Drama, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Good Severus Snape, Harry-centric, Heir of Gryffindor Harry Potter, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Mystery, Romance, Second War with Voldemort, Sirius Black Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-10-09 15:44:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 129,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17409677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iNiGmA/pseuds/iNiGmA
Summary: An attack on Hogwarts at the start of year 5 leaves Harry trying to navigate a foreign Muggle world where his life is just a story. Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione must help Harry's Muggle counterpart pass himself off as the real Boy Who Lived. But with Voldemort intent on Harry's murder, their days at Hogwarts are numbered, and a showdown with Voldemort seems inevitable. AU OotP. Harry still has magic.





	1. The Switch

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks so much for checking out Trading Places! This is an AU story of OotP.  
> This is cross-posted on FanFicNet, where you can find it if you search for iNiGmA.
> 
> -Rina

_**** _

Disclaimer: _Everything Harry Potter belongs to our queen, JK Rowling!_

_Otherwise, this story is a work of fiction, and any non-HP original characters, their names and adventures are purely a product of my imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and fictitious. This story does not take place in our Muggle world as we know it, but in a world entirely its own._

* * *

**Chapter One:**

_The Switch_

_._

_October 20th, 1995, Hogwarts_

_._

It was over.

He was sure of it; could read it in the fires burning across the castle lawn. Hogwarts had surely fallen.

The wind cut through the grounds with a bitter coldness, shrouding the night with smoke. Blocking out the light of every star. The ground was pockmarked, littered with unmoving forms. Some Death Eaters, whose outlines blurred into the darkness that weighed down the air. Some not.

He heard the sounds of battle around him. Unintelligible shouts. Cries of pain. Flashes of spells momentarily lit up the swirling sky. Like fireworks.

And through it all, Voldemort was, slowly but surely, advancing on Harry.

"Harry Potter," he hissed, his snake-like eyes narrowing in hatred. "You have evaded me for far, far too long."

Harry backed away, his wand shaking slightly in his hand. His scar was burning, the pain of it almost blinding. It was too much to bear, being this close to the safety of Hogwarts, to see the glow of its windows behind him, and yet to feel just as alone as he had that night in the graveyard, with Cedric dead at his feet. He wondered if there was a single safe place left in the world, where Voldemort would not find him.

"I will kill you tonight, Harry Potter. I will destroy you, like I have destroyed the wards protecting you."

"So what are you waiting for?" Harry spat. "Kill me, like you killed Cedric! Go ahead!"

Voldemort smiled coldly.

"I see you are finally tired of running. Very well."

He raised his wand.

Harry closed his eyes; it was true, he couldn't keep running. He couldn't stand to see anyone else die on his behalf. How many sacrifices would it take, for him to stay alive?

"HARRY!"

"Harry, no!"

Ron and Hermione. Their words were muffled, as if coming to him across an insurmountable distance; but their voices flooded him with strength – a reminder that he wasn't altogether alone. His eyes shot open.

Voldemort's lips curled into a sneer as they moved to form the words.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry's arm moved almost of its own accord as he pointed his wand at Voldemort.

" _Protego_ ," he whispered. He didn't have the strength to shout. The pain in his head was blinding him.

The shield spread out around him as he saw the green light shooting in his direction. He didn't know if it would do any good – there was no defending against the Killing Curse. But he had tried… He had tried.

The jet of green light hit his shield with the force of an explosion. Harry felt the pressure of it reaching for him as the spells collided. Everything around him erupted in blinding color, and he was blasted off his feet. The roar of magic around him was so loud that it drowned out the shouts of his friends and the sounds of the battle. The air surrounding him was hot and furious. It whirled around him like a storm.

If his Shield Charm held… if he survived this, would Voldemort be waiting? He wondered again if there was anywhere safe out there, where Voldemort could not go. He was afraid he didn't have the mindset for this battle. Not like this. Suddenly he felt his head hit something hard, and then, mercifully, there was only darkness.

Would he see his mother again?

* * *

_May 25th, 2006, Muggle London_

_._

"Cut! That's a wrap on Voldemort's entrance!" Carlos Baez called. "Moving on! Let's reset for the fight."

Daniyel Bluelake groaned as the crew started rushing around the set, adjusting lights and moving around the green screen. Trying to stay out of their way, he wandered over to the craft services table, where his costars – Ella Foster and Robert Murphie – were already hanging out, and grabbed a cracker.

It had been a long day; the film production of _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ was a bit behind schedule, and they had been filming since the crack of dawn to make up time. But now, finally, they were setting up for the last shot of the day. He loved playing Harry Potter, and he loved his work, but currently the only thing keeping him going was the prospect of going home and playing with his dog. He supposed he wasn't the only one who had ever experienced one of those days.

"I'm so exhausted," Ella yawned, echoing his thoughts. "This schedule's brutal."

"Tell me about it," Daniyel said, grabbing a wedge of cheese from the spread on the table.

"At least you two don't have to have to make an appearance at the British American Film Society Gala tonight," Robert informed them in a somewhat resigned tone. "My agent's dragging me along with the hopes of getting me a winter gig. I suspect I'll sleepwalk right through it. I told her my friend Ed wants me to be in his music video, but she doesn't think that's a real job…"

"Sorry about that, mate," Daniyel told him brightly as he reached for the cheese platter again. "I'll think of you fondly."

"Why, what are you doing after this, Dan?" Ella asked.

"Literally nothing at all. Can't wait."

"Yes!" Ella said. "Me too." She turned to the table as well, contemplated a bag of potato chips, and then sighed and picked up a strawberry from the edge of the cheese platter instead, as if it were a significantly inferior choice.

"You're eating the decorations, Ells," Daniyel said, grinning.

"Quiet, you!"

All right, people," Carlos called, his voice ringing across the soundstage, "let's get this done. Places everyone!"

Daniyel shoved one last piece of cheese in his mouth and jogged back into frame where he stepped into position opposite Raymond Steward, who played Voldemort. As he pulled Harry's wand from the pocket of his robes, he lowered his mind back into Harry's mindset: so close to letting go, but not ready to give up just yet. He closed his eyes, visualizing the scene. Voldemort would attack, but Harry would pull himself out of despair, attempt to block the Killing Curse. And then…

"Scene twenty-five, take one!"

"Rolling sound…"

He opened his eyes to see the clap of the slate.

"And… action!"

Daniyel gripped his wand and ran forward, avoiding the fallen Death Eaters on the ground. Raymond advanced on him, and he drew to a halt, raising his wand. His hand shook. Raymond pointed his wand at Daniyel's heart.

"I will kill you tonight, Harry Potter," he hissed. "I will destroy you, like I have destroyed the wards protecting you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Daniyel could see the jib circling around Raymond, and he knew it was closing in on his face.

"So what are you waiting for?" he shot back. "Kill me, like you killed Cedric! Go ahead!"

Raymond's lips curled into a cold smile.

"I see you are finally tired of running. Very well."

He raised his wand higher and Daniyel closed his eyes. The silence around them was surreal, the crew watching with bated breath.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " Raymond yelled.

Daniyel opened this mouth, his lips beginning to form the incantation for the Shield Charm, when suddenly a loud boom shook the set, and he saw a flash of light from above him.

He heard screams as everyone around him erupted into panic. For a terrifying moment, he had no idea what was happening. Then he saw, with frozen horror, that a flaming light was tumbling down from the rack above.

"Dan! Dan, MOVE!"

He heard Ella screaming, and he unfroze, forcing his feet into action. He lunged sideways, and the light missed him by inches. The heat from the flames blazed hot against his arm as it fell past him, and the impact of it hitting the ground knocked him off his feet. His head hit the ground hard as he landed, and all the screams around him faded into nothingness.

His last thought before losing consciousness was a realization that this was probably the closest he would ever come to actually being in a story, instead of pretending at one.

* * *

When Harry came to, every part of his body was aching. For a while, he didn't want to open his eyes. If pain was the price for living, then he was sure he had significantly overpaid. Perhaps he could get a partial refund.

He became aware of a persistent beeping and a peculiar smell that reminded him strongly of Aunt Petunia's cleaning disinfectant. Confusion permeated his thoughts. Surely, Dumbledore couldn't have shipped him back off to Privet Drive. He opened his eyes.

At first, he thought it was the hospital wing – but Madam Pomfrey's ward had certainly never contained an electric heart-rate monitor. And was that an IV bag he was hooked up to? Harry squinted around in bewilderment. He was clearly in a Muggle hospital. Why on earth had Dumbledore sent him here?

As he stared around the room, the door burst open and Hermione and Ron walked in, looking at him nervously. When Hermione saw he was awake she gave a shriek and raced towards him. Ron looked relieved as well.

"You're awake!" she cried, relief flooding her voice. "How're you feeling?"

"Hermione," Harry croaked. His mouth was exceedingly dry. He licked his lips. "Ron. Where am I?"

They looked at each other, concern evident on their faces.

"They did say he had a concussion," Ron told Hermione. They turned back to him.

"You're at Charing Cross hospital, Dan," Hermione told him. "There was an accident on set. One of the lights exploded and almost hit you on the way down."

Harry stared at them, completely bewildered.

"Hermione, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Er – it's Ella, remember…? We aren't filming anymore."

"Filming?" Harry repeated, staring at them both. His mind felt incredibly foggy, and he wondered if he was missing something. And the looks they kept giving each other, like he was profoundly mad, were incredibly irritating. "Filming what? Are you speaking in some kind of code? Hermione, why am I in a Muggle hospital? Where the hell is Voldemort? What happened after he tried to kill me? Did Dumbledore send me here?"

Ella Foster, the girl he mistook for Hermione, turned to Ron's doppelganger, Robert, her face paling.

"Oh my God, Rob," she whispered, "he thinks he's _actually_ Harry."

"What are you talking about? I _am_ Harry. Who else would I be?"

"Just calm down – er – Harry," Robert said, "everything's fine." He turned to Ella. "Maybe we should go get someone."

"Good idea," she said. She turned back to Harry. "Just try to relax and I'll… I'll go get a nurse. Be right back!"

"Wait!" Harry called desperately. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew he couldn't let this girl, this Hermione who was pretending to be someone else, walk out of the room. She paused. He could sense her nervous energy from all the way across the room.

"Look," Harry said slowly, lowering his voice and trying to infuse it with calmness before this situation escalated any further, "I have a wicked headache, and I'm just a bit confused. Can you just tell me, again, what happened?"

"Right," Ella said, "OK." She walked back toward him.

"We were on set, shooting the scene with Voldemort, and one of the lights caught fire. It almost – er – flattened you," she faltered, her voice cracking slightly, "but it just missed. But you hit your head, and they took you to the hospital. They said you have a concussion, so that's probably why you can't remember… but Harry Potter isn't really real… it's just a story. You play Harry in the movie, but we're all just, you know… Muggles."

Harry's mouth felt incredibly dry again. "And what is this movie called?" he managed to say, his voice sounding much calmer than he felt. "I can't seem to recall."

Robert and Ella looked at each other again.

" _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ ," Robert recited.

"Errrr," Harry said, "OK. And what did you say your names were?"

"I'm Ella, and this is Robert..."

"Right," Harry said. "Right… OK. And my name is…?"

"It's Daniyel. Bluelake," Robert said.

Harry wondered briefly if he had actually gone mad, or if Ron and Hermione were simply playing an enormous Fred-and-George sized joke on him.

"That's a bloody stupid name," he said, astounded. Ella let out a nervous giggle.

Harry fumbled with his bed sheets and saw that he was wearing a hospital gown. His robes were nowhere in sight.

"So – er – Ella, Robert," he said, the names rolling strangely off his tongue, "where's my wand?"

"Your… wand?" Robert said blankly.

"All your stuff is over here, Dan," Ella said, giving Robert a side-glance. She held up a transparent plastic bag and he could see his Hogwarts robe rolled up inside. It looked filthy. She handed the bag over. "I don't know if the wand is in here or not, but if you had it on you, it might be…"

Harry dug into the bag and felt around within the soft layers of cloth. Mercifully, his hand closed on the familiar shape of his wand. He pulled it out and looked it over carefully. It looked familiar. _It felt familiar_. He took a deep breath and pointed it at a pot of flowers on the windowsill. Either he was completely mad, waking up with no memory of his actual life and a dream of being a wizard, or he was in some kind of bizarre alternate world where everyone he saw was a walking parody of the people he knew and loved.

" _Accio_!" he said, concentrating on the flowers, and doing his best to avoid the alarmed stares the other two were giving him. For a second he was sure it wouldn't work. But the flowers shuddered and then rose into the air and flew toward him. He caught them, then turned to look at the other two, who were gaping at him.

"Holy shit!" Robert said.

Ella dropped her purse.

The three of them stared at each other in shocked silence. Harry put down the flowerpot.

"Right," he said, gaining back just a bit of confidence that he was not completely losing it. "As you can see, I am, _most definitely_ , a wizard – and I assure you, my name is Harry. Now please, can you stop messing around and tell me what's really going on?"

For a second, nobody moved. Ella and Robert continued to stare at him and each other in shock.

Mutely, Ella picked up her purse and dug around inside it. She took out a worn blue book and, after a slight hesitation, offered it to Harry. He took it and looked at the cover. It read: _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_. There was a drawing on the front of a cartoon character that slightly resembled him, and one that slightly resembled Ron, sitting in a blue Ford Anglia. A white cartoon owl was drawn between them. Slowly, as if about to step off a massive cliff that he could never re-climb, Harry flipped open the book.

"This – this is my life!" he whispered, flipping through the pages. "My second year at Hogwarts!"

Ella nodded. "Not that you aren't clearly real, but there's no Harry Potter here," she said slowly. "There's no magic. It doesn't exist. It's just a book – a fantasy."

"I don't understand how this could've happened," Robert added, still staring at Harry in shock. "One minute Daniyel was here, about to shoot the fight with Voldemort, and then the explosion… the light fell down… and BANG! It's you! Holy shit, mate! You're a real wizard!"

Harry put down the book, thinking furiously. "I was fighting Voldemort. He used the Killing Curse on me, but it didn't exactly connect. Maybe it happened at the same time as your explosion. Maybe–"

"Maybe the explosion and Voldemort's attack caused a rift in the space-time continuum!" Ella cut in, her voice growing louder with nervous excitement. "Maybe, we _do_ all really exist in a multiverse, and somewhere out there, in another dimension, Hogwarts is really real!"

"Bloody hell, this is like a giant Time-Turner accident, minus the Time-Turner," Harry said, trying to wrap his aching mind around it.

"That's all swell," Robert said, "but parallel universes aside, I think you're both forgetting something."

Harry and Ella looked at him in confusion. He threw up his hands.

"Harry, if you're here, then where the bloody hell is Daniyel?!"

* * *

The bed that Daniyel found himself in when he awoke was so comfortable that he was a little sorry to come out of his slumber. He lay there for a few moments, enjoying the softness of the sheets, before the memories came rushing back: the fire, the light falling. His eyes flew open in a panic and he bolted upright, staring around wildly.

"Woah, Harry, easy!"

He felt a hand on his shoulder and his eyes alighted on Robert's familiar face. Unfortunately, Robert was actually Ron.

"You OK, mate?" Ron asked, looking at Daniyel with concern.

"Fine, yes, I'm great," Daniyel said, still taking stock of his surroundings. He noticed a bandage on his arm, and felt one on his head as well. Not _great_ then, but _fine_ would do. He saw Ella, who he would soon know only as Hermione, peering at him from behind Ron. Behind her, he could see other beds filling up the room; it all looked strangely familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Am I in hospital?" he asked. "Is everyone else OK?"

"The hospital wing, yeah," Ron replied. "Everyone's fine. George had a broken arm, and Katie got burned pretty bad, but Pomfrey fixed them both right up. And we got a few Death Eaters captured! Fudge may just have to believe us about You-Know-Who now!"

"Sorry," Daniyel muttered, staring around in complete confusion as he rubbed his sore head, "er… what?"

"Are you feeling all right, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Why are you calling me _Harry_? Is this still part of the movie?" Daniyel asked. His mind was exceedingly foggy, and the question sounded stupid, even to his own ears.

"What's a movie?" Ron asked.

"What movie?" Hermione asked.

"What do you mean?" Daniyel said, rubbing his sore head in confusion. He felt like he was missing something. " _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_. Obviously." At this Ron and Hermione both snorted in amusement.

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron said, "did you channel Lockhart while you were asleep? What's the Order of the Phoenix?"

"What… the secret group created by Dumbledore. You know… the one outlined in the book… and your script. Did the light hit _you_ on the way down, Rob? What are you talking about?"

"What script?" Hermione said slowly, her face drawn in confusion while Ron stared at Daniyel with complete bewilderment.

"For the movie!" Daniyel cried, exasperated. He must have been out for a really long time, for these two prats to come up with such a stupid joke; they had played some interesting tricks on him before, but this one really took the cake.

Ron and Hermione exchanged an odd glance. Ron mimed hitting his head and Hermione did her best not to smack him. Suddenly the door to the room opened, and Professor Dumbledore strode in and made his way toward them, his robes billowing behind him.

"Professor!" Hermione said quickly.

"Hi, Richmond," Daniyel said, rolling his eyes at Hermione and wondering how far they were going to take this joke. But hell, if the last few years were any indication, Richmond was probably in on it. "You didn't have to come all this way just to visit! Thanks!"

All three of them stared at him.

"Harry, are you quite all right?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes, I'm great!" Daniyel said, wondering why everyone kept asking him this. Sure, he had just narrowly escaped being either flattened or burned to death, or both in that order, but at least he wasn't walking around the hospital pretending he was still a Harry Potter character. Did Ella, Robert, and Richmond just have zero boundaries? Scratch that, why was he even asking...

Dumbledore stared at Daniyel for a few more seconds, his blue gaze piercing, and then he turned to Ron and Hermione. Daniyel had the distinct impression of being tabled for later.

"Professor," Hermione began again, but Dumbledore cut her off.

"Miss Granger," he said, "I apologize, but I don't have time for a discussion quite yet. I came by to tell you that we are in the process of re-instating the wards around the castle. Voldemort has managed to escape with the rest of the Death Eaters, but rest assured, he will not be able to return here. I will send Sirius along shortly, and answer any of your questions after. Please keep an eye on Harry until I return."

They nodded silently and Dumbledore hurriedly left the room, his footsteps echoing across the stone floor. As he watched him walk away, Daniyel realized what the room reminded him of: the hospital wing at Hogwarts. He stared around in confusion, trying to figure out what on earth was happening. He almost felt like Carlos was about to jump out from behind the curtain with a camera and yell, "Surprise!" Perhaps he was going for the authentic route.

"Harry–" Hermione began.

"Listen, sorry, this isn't funny anymore, Ells. You guys got me, good one. But we all know my name's not actually Harry, all right?"

Hermione stared at him, her expression quite unreadable. "Ok…" she said slowly. "Then what is it? Your name?"

"What's my – are you serious?"

"Humor us," she said, while Ron looked on in bemusement, as if he couldn't quite believe Hermione was encouraging this.

"Humor you?" Daniyel muttered. "I'm definitely humoring you, all right. It's _Daniyel_ , remember? Your best friend since Reception? Now seriously, can you both please quit with this really lame joke and tell me what's going on? What happened with the light? Why does this hospital look like Hogwarts?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other again. Finally Hermione said, "OK… _Daniyel_ , we believe you. Right, Ron? _Ron?_ " She glanced at Ron, who shrugged wholeheartedly. "I'm not sure what light you mean, but you _are_ at Hogwarts. We've just barely got away from Voldemort. He hit you with the Killing Curse, but you've somehow shielded against it, and the force of it threw you against a tree. Any of this sound familiar?"

"Wow!" Daniyel said sarcastically. "Yes, actually, it does. It's only exactly the scene we were _just_ filming. Very creative, guys. Either that, or I must've hit my head _really_ hard, because I'm dreaming I'm actually Harry Potter."

"Hermione," Ron said, "I think he's gone mental."

"OK listen," Daniyel said, raising his hands in a placating gesture, "let's pretend for one second I'm taking you seriously and we're really at Hogwarts. And none of us are mental. Either way, I'm definitely not Harry. I'm just an actor. I play Harry. Now if you two are _actually_ Hermione and Ron… OK, let's just pretend you are for a second.

"Anyway, there was an accident on set, and now I must've, like, switched places with the real Harry. Which would be entirely brilliant, by the way! Except there's no way I can be at Hogwarts because I'm just a bloody Muggle. But of course, why am I even explaining this to you. I mean, I'm clearly dreaming."

Hermione and Ron gaped at him in disbelief. Even Hermione seemed lost for words.

"But," Daniyel continued, getting carried away in his telenovela, "if I'm here, then I suppose Harry is"– he let out a short laugh that made his head throb painfully –"about to find out he's an actor, playing himself. Oh man, I'd love to see that! Maybe I can just direct this dream back on over to the real world and–"

"Sorry to break it to you, Harry, I mean Daniyel," Hermione cut in, her face pale, "but you're definitely not dreaming."

"And he's also definitely not Harry."

Hermione gasped and spun around. Sirius Black was standing behind them, his wand pointed at Daniyel.

"Who the hell are you," he growled, "and what've you done with my godson?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU story of Harry's 5th year at Hogwarts. I originally came up with this concept (and wrote a mostly terrible story about it) when I was a freshman in high school, between 2002 and 2003. It was an important story to me at the time, and it stayed with me through the years.
> 
> This summer, I rediscovered it, and I've somehow taken on the huge project of entirely rewriting it, so that I can share it here with all of you. I've almost completely recreated it, leaving only the premise the same. I've looked at it with the critical eye of an adult, and I've tried to solidify its messages, root it more in the realities of the world, and in the realities of what I know about Harry Potter today. I don't know that I can still say this is the same story as the one I wrote back then, as I impatiently waited for OotP to be released, but in my heart it still is, I suppose.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it! Thank you so much for reading... I'd definitely love to hear what you think!


	2. Sacrifice

**Chapter Two:**

_Sacrifice_

_._

"Holy crap!" Daniyel gasped, backing away from Sirius and his wand as far as the bed would allow.

The four of them eyed each other for a frozen moment: Sirius glaring at Daniyel, who stared right back, slightly bewildered, while Ron and Hermione looked between them.

"Sirius, calm down!" Hermione cried, jumping up. "He hasn't done anything. We saw Dumbledore carry him in. He's been unconscious this whole time."

"Voldemort could've taken Harry and left this imposter in his place for us to find!" Sirius growled. "He could be torturing him right now! _He might be dead already._ This Death Eater smells nothing like Harry!"

He jabbed his wand at Daniyel and – before Ron or Hermione could stop him – cried, " _Homorphius_!"

A gust of wind blew past Daniyel and a glowing blue light surrounded him suddenly, flashing brightly as it obscured his vision. It was gone within seconds, and aside from the bright spots muddling his senses, he found himself unaffected. But for all that, the magic he had seen and felt with his own eyes was undeniable. "Holy crap," he said again.

Was it possible? _Was it even a little bit remotely possible that he was…_

"Not hiding under a transfiguration spell, are you?" Sirius continued, undeterred. "It must be Polyjuice then! What did Voldemort use for the transformation, huh?"

"Sirius!" Hermione cried, exasperated, as she grabbed his arm. "Stop it! That's completely impractical. I saw the whole thing happen, and there just wouldn't have been time! Besides, it's been hours since the battle. He would've turned back by now."

She turned back to Daniyel, scrutinizing his features closely.

"Also," she added, "he hasn't even asked for his glasses since he woke up, and if you look closely, he hasn't even got a scar! No," she said, turning back to Ron and Sirius, "I think he's a Muggle actor, just like he said."

Sirius lowered his wand and stepped closer, scrutinizing Daniyel's face.

"OK," he said slowly, "I don't know who the hell you are, or what the hell's going on, but tell us everything that happened. From the beginning."

It took Daniyel half an hour to walk Ron, Hermione, and Sirius through the events that had brought him to Hogwarts, and everything leading up to them. When he finished, the mood in the hospital wing was unusually somber.

"Blimey," Ron said finally. He stared at Daniyel as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

"Oh, this is bad," Hermione said, staring around anxiously. "This is _really_ bad. Maybe I can find something useful in the library." And with that, she got up and walked out of the room without another word. Sirius watched her go before asking the obvious question.

"So if you're here, what happened to Harry?"

"If I'm here and we really did switch places, then I suppose he might be back in my world..."

"So he's all alone and confused," Sirius grunted, sinking down in a chair by the bed. He put his face in his hands.

"I'm sure Harry's fine," Ron said reasonably. "There's no You-Know-Who in Daniyel's world, is there? And Harry did grow up as a Muggle. Blimey, I reckon he'll think this is bloody brilliant."

" _I_ think it's bloody brilliant," Daniyel echoed, because that seemed better than saying this was completely insane. They ignored him.

"You're probably right, Ron," Sirius said. "We'll sort this out. We'll just have to concentrate on keeping Daniyel safe until we can find Harry and figure out how to switch them back."

"You don't know how to?" Daniyel asked worriedly.

"I don't," Sirius admitted, "but I'm sure Dumbledore–"

"So what if You-Know-Who thinks Daniyel is Harry and tries to attack him before we figure it out?" Ron said, his tone slightly concerned. "He's already broken through our wards once. Daniyel's not a wizard. How's he supposed to defend himself?"

"I don't know, Ron," Sirius sighed.

"So we're just going to pretend he's Harry?" Ron persisted, perplexed. "Is he going to go to class and everything? How–"

"Yeah," Daniyel chimed in. "It's not like I can do any magic."

Sirius stood up abruptly. "I'm sorry, you two, I just don't have any answers for you right now. I must speak with Dumbledore – hopefully he'll know what to do. Daniyel, I'm sorry about this. And earlier..."

"No problem," Daniyel said distractedly as Sirius transformed into a big black shaggy dog right before his eyes and trotted out of the room.

"Well," Ron said, as he watched him go, "welcome to Hogwarts. I guess."

"Yeah…" Daniyel replied, "thanks. I gotta admit this isn't exactly how I envisioned it, when I imagined getting my letter..."

* * *

Dumbledore put his hands together and rested his chin atop them as he appraised Sirius. They were sitting in Dumbledore's office. The portraits on the walls were all feigning a very deep and unconvincing sleep, and Albus Dumbledore could see that he would be up for hours yet.

"I've never heard of anything like this happening before!" Sirius said. "How is this even possible?"

Dumbledore sighed wearily as he examined the situation. It was, to say the least, a rather interesting development.

"Well?" Sirius prompted. "Have you, Dumbledore?"

"It is not altogether impossible," Dumbledore allowed finally. "Perhaps…"

"Perhaps?" Sirius echoed, folding his arms and looking at Dumbledore questioningly.

Dumbledore sighed once more and glanced at Sirius over his half-moon spectacles. When he spoke again, his voice was firmer. "It would appear that Harry was thrown into an alternate world. Similar to ours, of course. You say that this boy, Daniyel, mentioned there was an explosion on his side? I presume that happened at the same time as Voldemort's attack on Harry. This most likely caused a rift to open up between Daniyel's world and our own. Something must have pulled them to each other, and in turn, to the other side."

"So how do we fix it?" Sirius asked. Dumbledore held up a hand, and Sirius fell silent, listening.

"Unfortunately it will not be so easy to get to Harry. We cannot simply Apparate or take a Portkey to another world. However, I do believe we will be able to speak to him. By using Harry as the link, I can send through a device through which we can communicate – a sort of holographic projector, if you will. We will be able to see and hear him, and he us."

"OK, yes, great. But how do we switch them back?" Sirius asked. "Surely you can get Harry back here."

Dumbledore sighed again, and paused before continuing, as if trying to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. "That is more difficult, I'm afraid. In order to get Harry back here, we would have to recreate the circumstances under which the rift occurred," he said. His face was rather grave. "If you recall those circumstances… The only way Harry can come back is if he calls upon our world with the Spell of Return, while Daniyel is actively engaged in a fight. _With Voldemort, Sirius._ We can then use the energy of Harry's return to open up a pathway to Daniyel's world and send him back."

The silence that followed this pronouncement seemed to last for centuries.

"But, Dumbledore," Sirius finally managed, his face pale, "that's _impossible_. The boy is a _Muggle_ – he can't even use magic. How can we ask him to face Voldemort on our behalf? It would be like sending a sheep to slaughter. There must be another way."

"I'm afraid not, Sirius."

"So then…" Sirius said, trailing off. "But Daniyel…"

"It would, of course, be Daniyel's decision," Dumbledore said softly. "But he would hardly go defenseless. If the boy was able to travel through the rift, I daresay he has some magic within him."

"Are you saying he's a wizard?"

"It is possible. In fact, I should say probable."

Sirius shook his head and slammed his hand down on the desk in frustration. Fawkes made an alarmed noise in the corner, and there was the tiniest pause in the rhythmic snoring of the portraits on the walls, throwing their illusion of deep sleep into question.

"I don't like this!" Sirius growled. "The boy knows nothing! We can hardly send him off to be a sacrifice."

"If he were to agree to this, Sirius, we would, of course, train him. We would teach him to control and use his magic. And I daresay we would be able to amend the circumstances of this battle to our liking. Of course, Harry would have to agree to this as well."

Sirius looked down and said nothing.

"Now we can sort the details out later," Dumbledore continued, "but in the meantime we must send the projector. If we can't find Harry, the plans we are making here will be of little consequence."

Dumbledore raised his wand and two flat oval discs appeared. They were dark, smooth, and reflective. He waved his hand over both discs, and a blue light glowed into being above them. Dumbledore seemed satisfied. He waved his wand again and one of the discs disappeared. He turned back to Sirius.

"It is done. Now we wait. Best not tell anyone about this, Sirius. The less who know, the better. We cannot risk Daniyel's safety."

* * *

"So Dan's at Hogwarts," Ella said, her eyes wide.

Harry shrugged as he dug around in the clear plastic bag until he found his glasses and slipped them on. At least he could finally see properly.

"I reckon so."

"Well how do we get him back?" Robert said seriously.

"I don't… I dunno," Harry muttered, thinking furiously. He was sure he would be all right in this Muggle world until he somehow figured it out, but Hogwarts was another story. Voldemort was there… and the battle… He cursed inwardly. What had happened? Was Voldemort still there? A cold wave of terror washed over him as he thought of his friends and Sirius. _Were they all right?_ He couldn't go there. He couldn't think about that. Not now.

Ella sank down into an empty chair beside his bed while Robert leaned against the wall. Harry stared into space, trying desperately to think of any spell that might be helpful in this bizarre situation. _How the hell was he supposed to get back?_ Suddenly there was a bright flash of light and something small bounced off Harry's head and tumbled onto the bed before him.

"Ouch!" he said, rubbing his aching head as he reached for the mysterious object.

It was a dark and flat oval disc. It weighed almost nothing. He flipped it over, trying to make sense of it, while Ella and Robert looked on curiously. It abruptly turned hot in his hands. Harry accidentally dropped it back on the bed in surprise.

A dome of blue light appeared above it as it fell, and Sirius's and Dumbledore's faces materialized within the dome, as if they had just popped out of a fireplace.

"Sirius!" Harry gasped, grabbing the disc again eagerly. "Professor!"

"HARRY!" Sirius cried. "Are you all right?"

Harry nodded, and felt a wave of relief surge through him as he did so. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Dumbledore was involved now, and he would fix everything. Ella and Robert crowded around him, staring curiously at the two wizards.

"This is Ella and Robert," Harry said, indicating his two new companions. Sirius nodded at them. He didn't seem surprised, which confirmed Harry's suspicions.

"Is Daniyel–" he began, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"Yes, Harry, he's here. I see that you are aware of the predicament we are in. You were thrown into an alternate world."

"Yeah, we kind of figured that."

"Very good," Dumbledore said, smiling as if they were in a classroom and Harry had answered a question correctly. "Then please tell me everything about your current situation, and what you remember about the battle."

Harry acquiesced and summed up the events of the last few hours. Dumbledore listened patiently.

"Very well," he said, when Harry was finished, "thank you, Harry. Now listen well, as this is of vital importance. First, until we can successfully switch you back, you have to pretend you are Daniyel. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded wordlessly, before following up with a question. "When will you be able to switch us back, Professor?"

"That is, unfortunately, a little more problematic. There is only one way to get you back here. Voldemort would have to attack Daniyel and he would have to fight back. Only during that time, with a certain spell, can you return."

"That… that can't be," Harry gasped. He glanced sideways at Ella and Robert, who were both gaping at Dumbledore in shocked disbelief. "There must be another way."

"It's the only way, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "I _am_ sorry."

Harry turned away, shutting his eyes tightly, as if the action would make the problem disappear. Would Daniyel be another sacrifice so that he, Harry, could keep on going? Ella and Robert's silence beside him was suffocating. He couldn't meet their eyes. He heard Sirius call his name softly, and reluctantly looked back at his godfather's face within the dome.

"Harry… it would be Daniyel's choice, if we do this. I'm sure he wants to go home as well. And we would do everything in our power to keep him safe. _Everything_."

"He can't even do magic," Harry said quietly. "He's just a Muggle – he won't stand a chance."

"Don't count him out just yet," Dumbledore said gently. "Daniyel could not have come here if he did not have magic within him."

Harry considered this, but in the end it changed nothing. "I don't think I could live with it if he got hurt because of me."

"Harry," Dumbledore said kindly, "it is your empathy, your huge capacity for love, that makes you strong. I understand that this is painful. But sometimes we must do things we would never expect or imagine, out of necessity. We will talk with Daniyel, and we will all come to a decision together. Why don't you rest until then?

"The projector will grow hot when we call, and to accept you need only channel your will – your desire to speak with us, and touch it with your hand. To call us, you need do the same: channel your desire, and touch it to reach out. We will talk soon, Harry."

And with that, the blue light faded and they were gone. Harry stared at the empty space where their faces had been just moments before, and felt more alone than he could ever remember; more so, even, than when Ron had stopped speaking to him the previous year. Mutely, Robert placed a hand on his shoulder and the three of them sat there for a while longer in silence.

Hours later, Harry lay alone in the moonlight, gazing up at the tiled hospital ceiling. Ella and Robert had finally left for home, and aside from a Muggle doctor who had stopped by to examine him and informed him that he was doing quite well, and a few Muggle nurses who checked on him periodically, he had seen no one else. Someone had pinned a few drawings to the ceiling and his eyes moved over them without really seeing them as he tried to sort out his thoughts. Perhaps he could do with Dumbledore's Pensieve.

He just couldn't understand how this situation had come about, and how it could be that it required such a drastic solution. Tired as he was of being chased by Voldemort, the idea of sending someone to face him in his place seemed so abhorrent to Harry that he simply could not accept it. And of course, there was also that little voice in the back of his head. That little voice that said, simply, _Ah, but you wanted to go somewhere Voldemort couldn't find you, didn't you? This is all your fault, isn't it? You wanted to be somewhere safe._

And wasn't it so? Could it have been his wish that latched on to the energy created by the collision of the spells that sent him here? This Muggle world where Voldemort did not exist; where Harry was, apparently, a famous movie star, and the life he had known was just a story; a world that was alien while familiar, comforting while lonely, and, above all else, _safe_.

Harry lay there quietly, guilt wrecking him, as the silence of the night was pierced by stray car horns that drifted in through the window. No matter how he looked at it, this wasn't Hogwarts anymore. His weary eyes blinked closed without him being aware of it, and the hand holding the oval disc dropped heavily to the bed.

In his dream, he was being chased by Voldemort as he flew wildly through the halls of Hogwarts on his Firebolt, dodging this way and that as Voldemort aimed curse after curse at him, breaking chunks of stone off the walls in his wake. Suddenly the Firebolt vanished from beneath him, and for a second he continued flying through the air without it, until he realized nothing was holding him up, and tumbled to the ground. As he started running, the stone walls of Hogwarts changed into a dark forest, and he dodged trees as he heard Voldemort closing in, laughing gleefully. Up ahead he saw the back of someone's head, covered in a shock of messy black hair. As Harry grabbed the figure in his hurry to get away and pushed him forward, the figure spun around, and Harry saw that it was his own reflection staring back at him. He drew back sharply, and sensed Voldemort draw up behind him. As Harry stood, frozen, Voldemort reached past him with his wand and struck his reflection down in a flash of green light. His triumphant laugh was ringing in Harry's ears, and as Voldemort reached for him, he felt his touch, like a burning fire on his arm.

Harry jolted abruptly awake, sweating, and stared around the room wildly. The oval disc was hot in his hand. _They were calling._ Trying to control his breathing, he wiped his face hurriedly on the blanket and raised the disc in a shaking hand, trying to focus on maintaining the connection.

The face that filled the blue dome was his own. Harry nearly dropped the projector, the dream still fresh in his mind. The face of his twin looked almost as pale as he felt.

"Harry?" he said.

"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione's voice said, and her face appeared behind the boy who was surely Daniyel. Harry found he didn't have a voice.

"Harry!"

Ron appeared next to Hermione. Harry felt warmness spread through him at the sight of his two closest friends. He smiled weakly.

"Hey there," he choked out. "Ron. Hermione. And you must be Daniyel?"

His twin nodded. "You don't know how odd it is to speak to you, Harry."

"I can imagine," Harry said, his face turning up into a slight grin.

"I assure you," Daniyel said, grinning as well, "it's odder for me." He paused briefly, before continuing in a more serious voice. "Harry, Professor Dumbledore told me everything. They're going to teach me magic. And this fight with Voldemort…" he paused. His face was pale, but it was also set in a mask of steely determination.

"I'm going to do it."

Harry hung his head, shame and helplessness washing over him. For the first time since he had stepped into the wizarding world, it was a plan he could only watch from the sidelines.

"I can't ask you to do that," he said.

"You don't have to," Daniyel replied with a grim smile. "I can't stay here either. There are people waiting for me too, even if they don't know it. And hopefully, thanks to you, they won't. Besides, don't you know, Harry? Every eleven-year-old dreams of getting their Hogwarts letter. Mine just came a bit late, is all." He smiled wider. "Don't you worry – once Professor Dumbledore brings you back, you can help me finish off Voldemort. We'll kick his ass!"

Harry let out a laugh he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It felt brilliant.

"You're very confident," he told Daniyel.

"I have to be," Daniyel replied evenly. "I have to hunt down a big, bad wizard. Apparently. And"– his tone turned serious –"I'm going to need every advantage I can get."

Harry nodded, not sure what to say. Daniyel's confidence made him feel just a little ashamed. But then again, it was always easier to take action than to sit back and wait. He knew this well.

"Harry," Hermione cut in gently, "I spent hours looking in the library, and I couldn't find _anything_ that will get us out of this. Professor Dumbledore says it's the only way. I'll keep looking, though."

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, well aware that if Hermione couldn't find something, it probably didn't exist.

"All right you lot, that's enough," Sirius's voice interjected, and Harry saw his godfather appear behind the other three. "It's late. Let Harry get some rest. We have a lot to do tomorrow as well."

"Good night, Harry," Hermione said. "Hang in there."

"See you later, mate." Ron.

Daniyel waved good-bye, and their faces vanished in an instant, leaving only darkness.

Harry let go of the disc and sank back into the bed. Somehow, he would have to come to terms with his inability to help. He could not face Voldemort for Daniyel, but would do his best to make sure Daniyel had the same home to come back to that he had left behind. Come morning, he would have plenty of his own battles.


	3. Magic

**Chapter Three:**

_Magic_

_._

Daniyel left the hospital wing with Ron and Hermione the following morning and followed them to Dumbledore's office. He marveled as they walked through the halls of Hogwarts; safe to say, the magnificent hallways, magical moving portraits, and majestic staircases looked nothing like the set he was used to.

Ron and Hermione came to a halt in front of Dumbledore's office, and Daniyel tore his eyes away from his surroundings to eye the Gargoyle.

"Treacle Fudge," Hermione said confidently. The Gargoyle sprung aside and they stepped onto the moving staircase, slowing ascending to the office of Professor Dumbledore. Once there, Hermione knocked cautiously on the door.

"It's us, Professor Dumbledore," she called.

"Come in, Miss Granger."

Hermione pushed the door open and the three of them stepped inside. Sirius was standing in the corner of the room and he gave them a casual wave as they entered.

"Very good," Dumbledore said, when the three of them were assembled in front of his desk. "Thank you for coming. The purpose of us meeting today is to prepare Daniyel to take up Harry's place in class starting Monday. Now, we just have a few things to go over.

"First, Mr. Bluelake, there are a few minor differences in your physical appearance that we'll need to address. Namely, you will need a scar. I'll alter your appearance slightly. Do not worry; this is only a visual transfiguration that we can easily remove when the time comes. Now, with your permission?"

Daniyel nodded and closed his eyes as Dumbledore pointed his wand at his head. He felt a prickly sensation on his forehead, which lasted several seconds. Dumbledore then handed him a pair of glasses, which he slipped over his nose. The lenses had no effect on his eyesight.

"Very good," Dumbledore said again. "Now, you have agreed to face Voldemort, and I commend you for your bravery. But you are not ready for this challenge quite yet. You have much to learn before we can even begin to plan this confrontation. And the first thing we must do is awaken the magic that is lying dormant inside you."

"How do we do that?" Daniyel said, excitement creeping into his voice.

"It is a fairly simple spell," Dumbledore said, raising his wand again as Ron, Hermione, and Sirius looked on curiously. He swung his wand in a circular motion directed at Daniyel while whispering something no one could quite catch.

Daniyel was suddenly engulfed in a sphere of golden light. He felt incredibly peculiar – almost as if he were falling deep within himself. He felt a flood of nostalgia rush through him, like childhood memories he couldn't completely put into words: like the warmth of a summer evening, and fireflies in the night. Simultaneously, he was suddenly filled with a sense of wonder and the knowledge that he was stepping onto a path long forgotten. The balance of the world, or simply his perception of it, shifted quietly but definitively, and he felt a power rise up inside him, calling out to the circle of golden light.

Dumbledore lowered his wand, and the circle abruptly faded. Daniyel was left standing, filled with a new sense of warmth and purpose. A tingle ran down his right hand, culminating in a red spark that flared out from his fingertips. Dumbledore smiled.

"I see it was successful. How do you feel?"

"I don't know," Daniyel said slowly. "Odd. Excited." He raised his hand and studied it as a few more sparks burst forth. The feeling coursing through him was exhilarating. Dumbledore nodded.

"That is quite a lot of magical energy. More than I expected, to be frank. It has been locked away for a fairly long time, but it looks like you have a gift, Mr. Bluelake. I think you will fit in at Hogwarts rather well. Now, there are a few more things I must share with you, but this will do for now. In the meantime, I believe it is time for you to acquire a wand. I cannot leave the school at this time, but Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, and Sirius will accompany you to Diagon Alley."

He produced a pen from his desk drawer and handed it to Daniyel along with a small coin purse.

"The pen is a Portkey," Dumbledore explained. "You are to visit Ollivanders and obtain a wand. Please be careful and try to not to draw attention to yourselves. Return here immediately after. The Portkey will bring you back."

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," Daniyel said, accepting the items. Sirius transformed back into Padfoot and bounded over to them while Ron and Hermione crowded around him. The four of them grabbed the Portkey and, within a moment, disappeared.

Dumbledore looked heavily at the space they had just occupied, smiling briefly at the look of excitement the boy couldn't quite keep off his face at the prospect of obtaining a wand and accepting his magic, no matter what lay on the path ahead.

"Good luck to you, Daniyel," he said quietly. "You are our only chance."

* * *

Daniyel, Ron, Hermione, and Padfoot appeared in a deserted alleyway next to Ollivanders. Ron pocketed the Portkey and together they set off toward Diagon Alley. Once they turned onto the main street, they were assaulted with bright Halloween decorations on almost all the storefronts. It was early Saturday morning, and the atmosphere was festive. Several witches and wizards walked past, some leading small children by the hand. The feel of magic was heavy in the air.

"Wow," Daniyel said, gazing around in amazement. "They _really_ don't believe Voldemort is back at all, do they?"

Ron flinched slightly at the name, but otherwise kept his reaction to a minimum.

"No," Hermione said bitterly. "Fudge doesn't believe Harry or Dumbledore, and will not admit that he's returned, so the wizarding world is carrying on as if nothing's wrong. I'm sure Dumbledore is hoping the Death Eaters we captured last night will make a difference…"

Padfoot growled softly beside her.

"Sirius thinks Fudge's a right tosser," Ron commented.

"Ron!" Hermione snapped.

"What, it's true."

Padfoot barked approvingly and pushed open the door to Ollivanders with his snout. The other three followed him inside, growing quiet as they entered the hush of the store. Daniyel looked around at the stacks of boxes piled up to the ceiling. It was a moment he had imagined, acted out, and was now actually experiencing for the first time. He felt bizarrely grateful. A voice floated toward them and Daniyel spun around to see Mr. Ollivander approaching them.

"Ahh," he said, peering at them. "Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger. I did not expect you. To what do I owe the pleasure? And here we have… Oh dear me. Mr. Daniyel Bluelake. Well this is a surprise."

Daniyel felt his mouth go rather dry as everyone stared at Mr. Ollivander in astonishment.

"Er – how did you know I'm not Harry?"

"I know every single person who comes into this shop, Mr. Bluelake," Mr. Ollivander said softly, his silvery eyes sweeping over Padfoot without comment. "But how very peculiar, to see you here. Nonetheless, I believe you are here for a wand?"

"Yeah, I am," Daniyel said, his voice growing more confident. Mr. Ollivander nodded, his eyes preoccupied. Daniyel watched in fascination as Mr. Ollivander walked him through the process of measurement, the details of which he had read and re-read so often, they were nearly burned into his mind. Finally, the tape measurer rolled up into a neat bundle and returned to an unobtrusive corner of the store, and Mr. Ollivander stepped in front of him, holding out a long, thin black box. His hand shaking slightly in anticipation, Daniyel reached out and grabbed it.

Nothing happened.

"Not to worry," Mr. Ollivander said, and just like that, the wand was gone from his grasp. Within seconds, the black box had been switched out for a red one, and then a green one. On and on it went, Daniyel picking up wand after wand, and after touching every one of them, feeling nothing.

Morning turned slowly into afternoon, and as Daniyel tried what truly felt like every wand in the store while Padfoot napped at Hermione's feet, he started to wonder if this was actually a huge mistake, and there was no magic inside him after all. Maybe despite what Dumbledore said, he was just a Muggle who wanted desperately to be a wizard.

"Maybe there's just no wand for me," Daniyel suggested after another half an hour, his fears starting to get the better of him.

"Nonsense," Mr. Ollivander said. "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Bluelake. It is the extension of your magical soul. There is a wand here for everyone. But, you _do_ have to believe in it."

He left Daniyel pondering over these words as he went to a distant corner of the shop and came back with yet another box, thin and golden.

Trying his best to believe in the magic, Daniyel opened it and took the wand out. It was just as nice looking as the others, and just like the others, it left no impression on him. Mr. Ollivander took it back, shaking his head. He walked away towards the back of the shop.

"Just a moment, Mr. Bluelake. I will have to look through the back room. Perhaps one of the wands there is meant for you."

Daniyel sighed wearily as he was left standing alone in the center of the shop. He glanced over at his companions, who had long ago lost interest in his quest to connect with his magic. Ron was starting to doze off, his head leaning against a shelf of precariously perched wands. Hermione had her nose stuck in a book as she absentmindedly scratched Padfoot behind the ear with one hand.

Daniyel stretched tiredly, then wandered over to the stacks of wands, being careful not to touch anything. He walked past shelf after shelf stacked as high as the ceiling, looking at all the boxes, and still Mr. Ollivander did not return. As he turned a corner and strayed further into the shop, he felt rather than heard something in his ear. It felt like a whisper, calling him. Turning towards it without a clear realization of what he was doing, Daniyel found himself in a corner of the store, far removed from the entrance. His gaze was drawn to a pale blue wand box, thinner than the rest, at the very bottom of the stack. It nearly looked as if it had been hidden there, shoved out of sight.

He almost felt as if it were calling him, and he found himself reaching for it before he was aware of his actions. His fingers had almost brushed the pale blue of the box when he heard Mr. Ollivander's sharp voice behind him.

"Mr. Bluelake, stop at once."

Daniyel spun around, the spell broken.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I'm not sure what happened. I was just taking a walk, I didn't mean to touch anything, I swear."

Mr. Ollivander regarded him in silence. Then he walked slowly past Daniyel, managed to extract the thin blue box without knocking over any of the boxes atop it, and opened it with deliberate care. With a slight hesitation, he turned and held out the box.

Daniyel looked at the wand that lay inside: long and thin, and slightly curved. The handle was little more than a thickening of the wood at its base. It was incredibly pale, almost white, and he could just barely see the remnants of what may have been black bands around it. It stood out sharply against the pale blue casing, and made him think of cold days. Of winter. Of snow. Despite the coldness it inspired, and the intrigue with which it was clearly encased, his hand reached for it almost of its own volition, and he felt a warmth flood his fingertips as soon as they touched the pale wood.

He felt a thrill as he picked it up, and as he brought it down in a graceful arc, a gentle wind blew up around him. For a second he was lifted into the air, his robes unkempt. He landed back on the ground, his face breaking into a grin. Mr. Ollivander stared at him for a moment more, then softly slipped the wand out of his fingers and placed it back inside the box. Daniyel was sorry to part with it.

"Yes, perhaps," Mr. Ollivander mumbled, almost to himself, as he closed the wand box tightly, still looking at Daniyel curiously. "Perhaps it is destined."

"What's – er – the problem?" Daniyel asked, wondering how many curious wands this store could possibly hold.

"Fifteen and a quarter inches, Mr. Bluelake," Mr. Ollivander said, and Daniyel wasn't sure whether or not he was answering the question. "Birch. And the core… is a single feather from the tail of a thunderbird."

"Oh, interesting," Daniyel said, intrigued. "That's not one of your standard wand cores, is it?"

Mr. Ollivander locked eyes with him, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. "Yes, that is correct. I suppose you would be familiar. I did experiment, back in my younger days, before I took over this shop from my father and rebuilt the Ollivander name based on the three cores we sell today: unicorn hair, phoenix feather, and dragon heartstring. And very fine cores they are." He paused, considering.

"But the tail feather of a thunderbird also makes a fine core. A very powerful core, in fact. It is commonly found in North America, to which the thunderbird is native. However, not many wand woods can contain that kind of power."

Daniyel stared back at Mr. Ollivander as he continued speaking, unable to look away. He felt a strong sense of déjà vu. It was almost as if he were Harry again, stepping onto his path of destiny.

"I do not often work with birch, Mr. Bluelake. It is a strong, old wood. Its magic is strongest in the cold days of winter. It draws power in the darkness of night. And that is the best time to harvest it for wand making. The wood for this particular wand was harvested in the northern forests of Russia, during the winter solstice. Yet the wands that it creates can often be unpredictable. When paired with the wrong core, it can be hard to control. When paired with the wrong wizard, it can be… most dangerous. But when used justly, the results can be unrivaled."

He sighed and produced a roll of plain brown paper and folded it around the box, tying it with twine. Daniyel watched, mesmerized.

"I did not intend to sell this wand, Mr. Bluelake," Mr. Ollivander said finally, as he placed the box into Daniyel's empty hands. "It was an experiment for me, if you will. A challenge: the wood of the coldest winter, to contain the heat of the fiercest desert bird. It is meant for great things – hard things – but after all, so are you. The wand chooses the wizard, and I have no say in the matter. An outlier will drift to an outlier. Perhaps it was always meant for you."

Daniyel thought about these words as he thanked Mr. Ollivander and walked out of the shop with Ron, Hermione, and Padfoot. He thought about them as they walked back down the brightly decorated street, grabbed some sandwiches from a street vendor outside Flourish and Blotts, and huddled around the Portkey, waiting for it to take them back to Hogwarts.

As the Portkey was activated and they were whisked off in a tumult of color, he wondered what the ominous warning about the birch wand could mean, and whether they were still in precisely the same magical world of Harry Potter that he had always known.

* * *

They reappeared in Dumbledore's office as he was arranging some parchments on his desk. He stood up and walked over to them as Sirius transformed back into his human form.

"That was a rather long trip," Dumbledore said. "Did you run into trouble?"

"Not at all, Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said. "It took quite a while to track down the correct wand for Daniyel."

"Ah, but you were successful, I take it?"

In response, Daniyel unwrapped the box and presented it to Dumbledore, who smiled serenely.

"That is a fine looking wand, Mr. Bluelake. Very well. Now, I have thought about the best way to approach the next issue at hand and I do believe I have a solution. It is not ideal, and it may be a bit unpleasant, but it will have to do, I'm afraid."

"What may be unpleasant?" Daniyel asked nervously.

"The only way you will be able to keep up with your classes and pass as Harry is if I place roughly four years worth of magical education in your mind. You will have a general knowledge of what was taught in the last four years, though not a practical one. Nevertheless, it should be sufficient to keep up with your coursework. I would not normally advise such a thing. The mind is many-layered and complex, and for proper learning and retention, one must put forth the equivalent effort. However, under the circumstances..."

He glanced sternly at Daniyel, who felt slightly uneasy.

"I see," Daniyel said. "Okay."

He wasn't quite sure how he felt about Dumbledore placing information in his mind. He had read enough and seen enough to know that things were not given freely, and those that seemed to come easily were not without cost. Nevertheless, if Dumbledore thought this was the best way to maintain his cover, he didn't think he had much choice. He could hardly join a first-year class, or perform at first-year level in the midst of Harry's O.W.L. year.

"The flow of information can be… overwhelming," Dumbledore added. "It is rather shocking to the mind, you understand, to receive such a sudden influx of information. I will, however, do my best to temper the flow and make the transition as smooth as possible. You will still have to put in quite a bit of work, once it is done, to retain this information. Constant study and practice. Now, if you're ready?"

Daniyel nodded silently, and Dumbledore stepped forward and pressed the tip of his wand to his temple.

" _Induo Indicium_ ," he said, and Daniyel felt the wand grow warm. Suddenly, he felt a pressure wrap itself around his head, as if a large current of information was flowing into him all at once. His eyes widened, and he saw a vista spread out in front of him, full of thousands and thousands of images, equations, and pronunciations all blurred together. He felt as if he were falling into a sea of never-ending ideas, and they were drowning him. He gasped for breath as the gush continued. He could see nothing but the flood. He could hear nothing but the rushing sound of thousands and thousands of instructions all blurring into a cacophony.

The proper way to cast a Shield Charm. The details of how to read the stars in the night sky. The exact decibel of laughter required to destroy a boggart. He was in a classroom. He was on the Quidditch pitch. He was in proper combat position, preparing for a duel. At some point the images turned into a blurry whiteness. And then the whiteness turned black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now Daniyel has a wand! Exciting. I do realize it may seem like a bit of a simple solution, to give Dan as much help with his schoolwork as I did. This bit has had some mixed feedback, and truthfully, I've thought a lot about the best way to approach it, and re-wrote it several times, but this is what I came up with in the end - mainly because if I had made it harder for Dan to catch up with the class, this would have had to be a different story than the one I wanted to tell. I do promise, I haven't made things easy for him in the slightest. So I do hope you guys will forgive me my little plot device here and stick around!
> 
> And please let me know if you have any comments, questions, anything. I do answer all reviews. And really... good, bad, constructive... I'll take it all!
> 
> You guys all rock for reading this!
> 
> Rina


	4. Walking on Wind

**Chapter Four:**

_Walking on Wind_

_._

When Harry woke up again, the sun was streaming through the windows, and a middle-aged woman was sitting by his bed. She had glossy black hair and green eyes, which reminded him of his own. He squinted at her blurrily, wondering who on earth she could be. Her eyes met his and she smiled brightly.

"Dan, you're awake! Thank God! They told me you'd be fine, but I had to see for myself."

She dabbed at her eyes, got up, and hugged him tightly before he could speak. As she held on to him, memories of last night came flooding back, and Harry came to the realization that he was not, in fact, waking up from a bizarre dream in which he had switched places with an actor who played him in a movie. Hogwarts felt further away than ever; the dream was his new reality. His head throbbed painfully.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, and then taking a risk he hoped would pay off, he added, "Mum."

The word felt foreign on his tongue. She hugged him tighter and said, "Of course you say that. But when Carlos called and told us what happened, I nearly had a heart attack. I'm so sorry we weren't here sooner. Your father and I hopped on the red-eye from New York straightaway. We just got in this morning."

She released him and looked him over, eyeing his bandages critically. Harry felt distinctly like he was in Mrs. Weasley care, and he smiled wistfully.

"Your father's looking for the doctor," she added, when he still didn't say anything. "The NP said your CT scans came back clear, thankfully, and they feel comfortable releasing you today, so we should be able to go home soon. How are you feeling?"

She looked at him expectantly, awaiting a response.

"Great," Harry said, sincerely hoping he sounded like Daniyel. "I feel great. Is there any water?"

"Of course, I'll get some."

She squeezed his shoulder briefly and walked away. Harry reached for his glasses and slipped them on so he could get a good look around. Daniyel's mother looked at him in confusion when she returned, holding a cup of water with a straw.

"Why are you wearing those?" she asked, handing over the cup.

"Oh, er–" Harry said, digging around in his throbbing head for a good reason. If he didn't come up with one, he would be stuck walking around nearly blind. "They gave them to me, so I could get deeper into – er – pretending to be Harry. They're not real."

"Oh. But surely you don't have to wear them now, do you? You need to rest and stop thinking about work until you get better."

"No, I – I like them," Harry said, mentally kicking himself for not coming up with something better. I'm already used to them and–"

Thankfully he was spared from coming up with any more feeble lies by the arrival of the doctor followed by a man he assumed must be Daniyel's father: tall and dark-haired, with a concerned look on his face.

"Dan, you're awake!" he said heartily. "Wonderful!"

Harry patiently sat and answered questions for Dr. Johnson as he examined him, and then looked on as Daniyel's parents further questioned the doctor about follow-up protocols.

An hour later Harry walked out of the hospital, donning a sweatshirt and pants from the gift shop – his robes, wand, and projector disc safely in a bag. In his other hand, he clutched a prescription for Tylenol #3 while wishing bitterly for Madam Pomfrey's remedies.

He attempted to spend the drive home gazing out the window of Daniyel's parents' Mercedes, but after a while the fast moving scenery became a dizzying blur and he closed his eyes wearily. When he opened them again, they had pulled up in front of a well-kept suburban home that made Privet Drive look like a cookie-cutter. It was detached and surrounded by an expanse of landscaping that Harry found rather pleasing to look at. There was a large front garden full of flowers, with a cobblestone path leading through it to the front door. The house and garden were enclosed by tall hedges planted around – what Harry assumed – was the property line. The house itself was a shade of dark blue, with white shutters around the windows, and a red door.

The car turned slowly into the driveway and stopped in front of the garage at the side of the house. As Harry got out gingerly, he saw what looked like a fledgling vegetable garden towards the back. He wondered what Aunt Petunia would think of this place. It was clearly well kept and lovely, but he imagined the gardens were much too wild for her liking.

He followed Daniyel's parents into the foyer, where they stepped out of their shoes at the door. Harry followed suit, shrugging off his Hogwarts boots. They looked a real mess. There was a grand staircase leading up to the second floor. A large chandelier, which was glittering brightly, hung from the ceiling high above him. It reflected the rays of sunlight that seeped in from a large window set above the front door, which also bathed the foyer in light. It was the biggest house he had ever been in.

He barely had time to absorb his surroundings before a small, light colored ball of fur darted at him and started barking loudly. Harry stepped back sharply in surprise. His hand almost darted for his wand, but he stopped himself at the last second. The little dog continued barking at him, occasionally interrupting the loud barks with little growling noises.

"Binka!" Mrs. Bluelake said. "Down girl! What's wrong? It's just us!"

The dog continued barking and growling, sniffing at Harry's feet. Harry lowered his hand and held it out tentatively to the little dog, trying his best to block out his last encounter with an angry canine, where a tree and Aunt Marge had been involved.

"How odd, it's almost like she doesn't recognize you!" Mrs. Bluelake said, confused. Harry laughed nervously. Mr. Bluelake petted the little dog on the head and she stopped growling to lick his hand, momentarily distracted. Harry took the opportunity to pet the dog as well. She didn't bite him, and he took this as a positive sign.

"Dan, why don't you go up to your room and rest?" Mrs. Bluelake suggested. "I'll bring you up some soup later."

"OK," Harry said. He took a tentative step towards the stairs, and when nobody said anything, he climbed up to the second floor, his head pounding with every step. Once upstairs, he was faced with an array of similar looking white doors. Since no one else was upstairs with him, Harry tried several until he found a room that looked like it could be Daniyel's.

There were several photos tacked to the walls, and he inched further into the room, his eyes trailing over the images of a boy that looked just like him, standing beside what could be Ron or Hermione. Or Neville. Or Malfoy. Or – he stared in shock – _not_ _Voldemort?_ Harry tore his eyes away from the bizarre sight and walked over to the desk. It contained a laptop computer and several pages of what appeared to be scripts. Harry flipped though them, noting that they described events from earlier in the school year. He walked over to the bed and flopped down wearily. This was absolutely surreal. He still couldn't believe it.

He looked around the room. It was significantly bigger than the room he had back at the Dursleys – bigger even than Dudley's room. Other than the desk and the bed, there was a bookcase crammed full of books, a punching bag in the corner, two large windows that took up most of one wall and looked out over the vegetable garden, and two additional doors that led out of the room to what looked like a walk-in closet and a bathroom respectively. Harry wondered if Daniyel had his own bathroom. A large flat TV, unlike anything he had ever seen before, hung on the wall in front of the bed, and below it was a small table with a game console, several remote controls, and an untidy stack of games. The name on the console read _PlayStation 2_.

"Wild," Harry muttered to himself. "Dudley hasn't even got that model. I thought his _PlayStation 1_ just came out last year..."

He trailed off as his eyes landed on a calendar that hung on the wall next to the desk. It was flipped open to May 2006.

"Bloody hell, I'm in the future!"

As the words left his mouth, the full weight of everything that had happened began to sink in. He was trapped in another world, far away from everything and everyone he knew. Separated by not just distance, but time. He already missed Ron, Hermione, and Sirius. He missed Hogwarts, with its amazing food and challenging lessons in magic. He missed the warm fire in the Gryffindor common room. But then he thought of Voldemort, standing over him in the graveyard… attacking him in the safety of the castle, and felt his body turn cold.

Before he returned to Hogwarts, he would have to work out his inner struggles. Otherwise, when Daniyel stepped up to bring him back, he would be worse than useless.

Harry rolled over onto his side and raised the projector disc to his face, staring at it thoughtfully as he remembered talking to Sirius last night. _He could call Sirius._ He could tell Sirius about his fears. About the emptiness he had felt ever since last June. About how he still saw Cedric's empty staring eyes nearly every time he closed his own. But he suspected, somehow, that Sirius must already know. And he knew if he called Sirius now, his godfather would just worry, and Sirius had enough to worry about as it was. So Harry dropped the disc on the bed beside him and turned away from the window. He popped a Tylenol #3 in his mouth and swallowed it dry, and then closed his eyes and chose sleep almost as if it were hibernation, waiting for something to come along and set him on a path to follow.

* * *

It was still dark in the Gryffindor dormitory when Daniyel woke up on Monday morning. He walked quietly to the window, staring out over the Hogwarts grounds. He had spent all day yesterday relaxing and getting a tour of Hogwarts from Ron and Hermione, and he felt well rested for the first time since the accident. It was almost as if he were recovering from the jetlag of a long, long flight – from London to Melbourne, perhaps. His head was bursting with the knowledge of magic, and he felt as ready as he could ever be to face the challenges that awaited him. Despite the precariousness of his situation, as he stood there in the darkness watching the sun break over the horizon and begin to rise up into the cloudless sky, his face split into a huge grin.

When Ron, Hermione, and Daniyel walked down to breakfast, the Great Hall was abuzz with chattering students. They stared at him as he walked past, and for a second, Daniyel thought they must all know his secret – that they must be discussing his identity. But then Ron said, "Guess the whole school will know about You-Know-Who by now, eh?" And Hermione rolled her eyes, as if she found it impossible that someone could be so dense, and said, "Most of the school doesn't know what's happened, Ron. Didn't you see the Prophet?" and shoved the rolled up copy she had been carrying in her bag into his hands. Ron unrolled it as they sat down at the table and looked at the headline.

'WHAT!" he bellowed.

Daniyel leaned over so he could see the headline. It read: **HOGWARTS ATTACKED BY DEATH EATERS, LED BY SIRIUS BLACK**

"Oh, right," he said, "they'll be blaming Sirius for that. Of course."

"Of course?" Hermione said curiously.

"Well you know, because I've read the…" He trailed off, his eyes drawn to the article as something halfway down the page caught his eye. He skimmed it quickly.

_In the late hours of Friday night, the 20th of October, a group of Death Eaters who had been previously successful at avoiding imprisonment in Azkaban managed to break past the various protective enchantments guarding Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and enter the grounds of the magical school, where they engaged with several students and teachers. Spells were exchanged, and three of the Death Eaters were captured by Hogwarts staff. The three have been turned over to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and will be tried and sentenced in the coming weeks._

_Their leader is believed to be none other than the notorious Sirius Black, who so famously escaped Azkaban two years prior. Unfortunately, Black was not among the captured, though we can only assume that the staff at Hogwarts did their utmost best to contain him. None of the students or staff were seriously injured; however, sources tell us that the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, had launched himself into the middle of the battle, running straight at Black, and thus preventing his capture. Believed to be unstable since the conclusion of the Triwizard Tournament last June – which culminated in the tragic accidental death of his fellow classmate Cedric Diggory – Potter, who had to be carried off the field, was the only student who sustained any injury._

_Aurors have canvassed all of Hogsmeade and the surrounding area, searching for Black and his band of followers, but have not been able to detain anyone else suspicious. Analysts at the Ministry of Magic believe this attack may well be tied to the attack on a family of Muggles at the Quidditch World Cup two summers ago, and warn of a rising sentiment of Pure-Blood pride that has been prevalent in recent months._

_While Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,_ _Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and until recently, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, claimed that the attack was led by none other than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself, and requested the Ministry of Magic provide additional security at Hogwarts, there has been no justification for these concerns. It should be noted that Dumbledore has been asserting that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been active in this area again since last June, but there has been absolutely no evidence to corroborate this claim. It should also be noted that Albus Dumbledore's Supreme Mugwump title is currently under review._

_Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, stresses that there is absolutely no cause for concern, and that had He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named been truly walking amongst us once more, he would personally lead the wizarding world to a very resounding victory. In the meantime, he promises that he and the Ministry will do everything in their power to capture Sirius Black and his followers. Full details and biographies of the Death Eaters in custody can be found on page thirteen._

"Had to be carried off the field…" Daniyel repeated to himself, staring hard at the article.

"I don't believe this garbage!" Ron growled. "How do they come up with this dragon dung? Unstable! And blaming Padfoot?!"

"What is it, Daniyel?" Hermione asked, ignoring Ron, who shoved an entire pancake into his mouth and bit down on it angrily.

"It's odd," Daniyel said, trying to figure out exactly how to phrase what was on his mind. "You see, I've read all of this, in the books, and Harry was never 'carried off the field.' Harry tried to block the Killing Curse, but the reason it didn't hit him was because Dumbledore attacked Voldemort simultaneously and diverted it. Then Dumbledore chased Voldemort off the grounds… like what happened here. But Harry was fine; he walked back to the castle on his own. And this, right here… where it says three Death Eaters were captured? It was supposed to be only two. And look, here too… where it says Dumbledore requested additional security from the Ministry? Dumbledore would've never requested it, because Dumbledore and Fudge aren't supposed to be speaking. Dumbledore's persona non grata over at the Ministry, and it's the same here for Fudge. The tone this whole article takes is biased, of course, but it's much more fair than it's supposed to be. And rising Pure-Blood sentiment? That was definitely never mentioned!"

"So you're saying our storylines are… diverging," Hermione said, mulling the information over thoughtfully.

"It's just little things," Daniyel said.

"But they can have a big impact! And it's only been two days – the rift will likely grow bigger. Whatever it is you know about our future, it might not even be relevant anymore."

Daniyel nodded thoughtfully. Ron, who had finished inhaling his pancake, was looking at him now as well, and Daniyel had an uncomfortable feeling that they both very much wanted to ask him about the future outlined in the books, even though Dumbledore had specifically told him not to discuss it with anyone, himself included. He pulled a plate of kippers toward him as he considered this in silence. If this world of Harry Potter didn't quite match the world of Harry Potter _that he knew_ , then all bets were off. He felt like the rug of set precedent was being slowly pulled out from underneath him.


	5. The First day

**Chapter Five:**

_The First Day_

.

The remainder of breakfast passed without incident. When the first bell of the day rang out across the Great Hall, they abandoned the last of their tea and made their way across the Hall and out onto the grounds, where the sun was shining brightly. It was a beautiful October morning. They walked across the lawn, heading to Care of Magical Creatures, where Hagrid was standing in front of his cabin.

"How are yeh, Harry?" he said as they approached and drew to a halt before him. "I was worried. Always gettin' into trouble, aren' yeh?"

"I'm great, Hagrid."

"Good, good," Hagrid said, clapping him heartily on the back. Daniyel braced his feet so he wouldn't sink into the ground. The rest of the class drew up behind them and Hagrid turned to face the assembled students. "Gather 'round, ev'ryone! We're finished with fire crabs as of las' lesson, and I've got a real treat fer yeh all today. "

Glancing around, Daniyel saw several of his classmates exchange nervous looks. He grinned at Ron and Hermione; he had been looking forward to seeing Hagrid in action.

"This is going to be excellent," he said quietly.

Ron raised his eyebrows.

Danyiel turned back to look at Hagrid, who had lifted his huge arm into the air before him. There was a sudden flash of flight, and a red bird appeared on his forearm. The class gasped and erupted into muttered whispers.

"This is Fawkes," Hagrid said happily. "Borrowed 'im from Dumbledore. Now, I 'spect you know wha' he is? Who can tell me–"

"A phoenix!" Hermione said immediately, nearly forgetting to raise her hand.

"Righ' yeh are, Hermione," Hagrid said, beaming. "Phoenixes are amazin' creatures. They can…"

Daniyel looked on curiously as Hagrid described the various attributes of the magnificent bird. The lesson was surprisingly uneventful, with the exception of Draco Malfoy making several snarky comments, which Hagrid, to his benefit, stoically ignored. Nothing caught on fire, and no class injuries were sustained.

"You got a really good first lesson," Ron informed him quietly as they made their way back to the castle for Divination.

"I know!" Daniyel said. "I'm almost disappointed. I was expecting… never mind."

He trailed off, contemplating it, while Ron shook his head in bemusement. He had been expecting some crazy and exciting magical creature… and it wasn't exactly that Fawkes wasn't exciting, it was simply that he didn't think that Hagrid had ever done a lesson on phoenixes in fifth year – or at all. Was it another variation to the timeline, or was he simply overthinking it?

Hermione left them in the Entrance Hall as she headed towards the Arithmancy classroom, and Daniyel followed Ron up to North Tower.

"Wait until you meet the old bat," Ron said brightly. "She's legendary. Loads of entertainment."

"I feel like I already have," Daniyel said, grinning.

Professor Trelawney welcomed them into her dark and stifling attic room, shooing them past her as they climbed up through the trapdoor in single file.

"Sit down, my dears, sit down," she said in a rather pleased voice as Ron and Daniyel filed past her and sank onto poufs around a small circular table at the edge of the room. Every table contained a small mirror. "It has been a week since we've met, and in that week my predictions of terror at Hogwarts have unfortunately been realized."

Everyone started at her.

"Well, my dears, we have indeed been attacked. By He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself!"

"That was just Sirius Black and his followers," Seamus Finnigan called out.

"It was You-Know-Who, and you know it!" Ron snapped, his ears turning preemptively red.

"Professor, is it really true?" Parvati Patil gasped.

The classroom erupted into panicked conversation as Ron turned to Daniyel and muttered, "For once, I agree with the old bat."

"Whatever suits her narrative, I suppose," Daniyel said, shrugging.

Professor Trelawney waited until they had talked themselves into silence before she continued, taking advantage of the anxious atmosphere.

"In light of this recent development," she breathed in her usual misty tone, "I've decided that we must cut our study of dream interpretations short and move on to Catoptromancy.

"Catoptromancy involves the utilization of a mirror to look into the future. It is a most ancient form of crystal gazing. Not only will it be on your O.W.L. examination at the end of the year, but I also believe it will prove most useful in defending our home against the forces that seek to destroy it.

"Now, please read the section on Catoptromancy starting on page 327 in _Unfogging the Future_. Once you have all completed the reading, we will move on to attempting the scrying technique."

There was a lot of rustling in the room as everyone turned to the appropriate page and attempted to read though the ten-page section. Once all the stragglers had finished, Professor Trelawney waved her hand, and the light in the room turned to moonlight. The room became even darker.

"Because Catoptromancy requires lunar light, I have provided it for you here. You will get the best results at true night, of course, especially on the night of the full moon, and I will expect you all to practice this in the evenings, and then report your findings back to me. In the meantime, please practice catching the lunar rays in the mirror and observe your reflections. Remember, the answers to what you seek will lie within yourselves."

"You first," Daniyel said, turning the mirror toward Ron, who shrugged and adjusted it until it caught the moonlight. Then he stared at it, his brow furrowed in concentration. His face looked uncharacteristically serious.

"Do you see something?" Daniyel whispered.

"Yeah," Ron said, deadpan. "I forgot to trim my nose hairs this morning. Why didn't you tell me?"

Daniyel nearly burst out laughing. Professor Trelawney glared at them as she floated past.

"I think it's your angle," he said stoically, when he could control his voice. Ron adjusted the mirror.

"Ah, you're right."

Ron pushed the mirror back across the table and Daniyel adjusted it to better catch the moonlight. He stared at his own reflection, not sure what he was supposed to be seeing. As much as he was aware that Trelawney was a fraud, with the exception of being a vehicle for a couple of prophecies, he wondered if Divination was one of those subjects that would maybe flourish under a proper teacher.

He tilted the mirror this way and that, and as the moonlight bounced off it, he thought he saw a dark streak running down the side of his reflected face. He leaned in sharply, but his face was unblemished. Whatever it was, was gone – if it had ever been there at all. But the feeling it had left him with was incredibly unsettling.

As they walked down to lunch an hour later, Ron, who had noticed nothing, had one sound bit of wisdom to add into the mix:

"My favorite part about Trelawney's Divination skills was when she could clearly tell you were not, in fact, Harry."

Daniyel forced himself to laugh, and the cold feeling the room had inspired in him dissipated.

"Well," Ron said, as they continued down toward the Great Hall, "you're not Harry, mate. But you're all right in my book."

"I dunno what I'd ever do with myself, if you didn't think I was all right."

Ron chortled, and Daniyel smiled as well. Fitting in at Hogwarts was not as difficult as he had imagined it would be. He almost felt as if he was exactly where he belonged. His inner nerd hadn't stopped grinning all day.

After lunch, Daniyel, Ron, and Hermione headed down to the dungeons for Potions, and Daniyel soon forgot what that nerd smile of his looked like.

As he stood over his frothing cauldron, sweating profusely, Snape seemed to take extra special pleasure in insulting his potion, which was not going particularly well. This behavior was of course familiar, and expected, but knowing about it and experiencing it were two quite different things.

"Potter," Snape spat, and Daniyel could have sworn he felt some spittle hit his ear, "I realize you've hit your head recently, but even a concussion could not _possibly_ account for the speed at which you are working. Why, _even Mr. Longbottom_ has already completed skinning and shredding _all_ his shrivelfigs, in a passable manner no less, and yet here you are, Potter, struggling to skin your first."

"Sorry, Professor," Daniyel ground out, trying to keep his deep loathing for the man out of his tone. It didn't help that Snape's voice seemed to transport him right back to his days of misery in primary school. This was at least the fifth time that Snape had mocked him during the lesson. He clenched his fist tightly around the shrivelfig. As he applied pressure to the purple fruit, it abruptly shot out of its skin and, with a very satisfying squelch, smacked Professor Snape right in the face. Daniyel gulped silently, afraid to look. There was a collective gasp from the class.

"I'm sorry, Professor," he managed, keeping his voice impressively even. "I couldn't remember the skinning technique. But I guess that was it."

The dungeon was so silent he could almost hear the bated breaths his classmates were holding. There was a wet plop as the shrivelfig slipped off Snape's face and landed on Daniyel's desk, splattering his hand with errant drops.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Potter," Snape finally hissed, the sound carrying through the silent room. "And detention. _Tonight_."

Snape stalked off in an angry whirl of black robes, and Daniyel looked up to see Malfoy's sneering face gazing at him from two tables away.

"Better watch out, Potter," he called in a carrying whisper that Snape ignored. He lowered his voice and added, "but don't worry, the Dark Lord won't wait much longer. We're all taking bets on when he'll kill you. I suspect it's this week, so you probably won't have to do any more detentions." He laughed derisively.

Daniyel glared at him. He had just about had enough of the bullying from the lot of them. He made toward Malfoy but Ron kicked him under the table.

"Is that what your dear father told you?" Ron shot at Malfoy.

"I suppose he'll hear about this?" Daniyel added scathingly. Ron chortled.

" _Shut up, Potter!"_ Malfoy snapped, his face paling in the dim light of the dungeon. "You haven't even _got_ parents! And you, Weasley, your Muggle-loving father is a disgrace, and so are you."

"Don't you dare insult Muggles, Malfoy!" Daniyel snapped.

"What's the matter?" Malfoy goaded. "Defending Granger? Your Mudblood girlfriend? I bet you two shack up real nice and cozy. Tell me, Potter, is her hair only that frizzy up top, or–"

" _Shut up_!" Ron spat, his voice rising angrily. "You little f–"

"Weasley," Snape said silkily, appearing beside them, "you will join Potter in detention. Twenty more points from Gryffindor."

Ron, whose ears had turned a furious red, looked like he very badly wanted to shoot a retort at both Snape and Malfoy, but with a very large effort of will, he turned back to his cauldron, fuming. The Gryffindors were looking furious, and Daniyel wasn't entirely sure whether he and Ron or Snape and Malfoy were the root of their anger. He looked down at his own cauldron, rage pulsing through his veins, while Malfoy laughed softly – the sound carrying clearly through the room. As usual, Snape overlooked him.

"You have to ignore them, Ron," Hermione said quietly in a tight voice, finally contributing to the conversation. "You don't need to defend my honor. You're just throwing more wood in the fire. Sorry you had to witness all that, Daniyel."

Ron spent the rest of the lesson scowling furiously and ignoring her, and Daniyel breathed a sigh of relief when it was all over, and the three of them walked to the Great Hall for dinner – where the Gryffindor hourglass was seventy rubies lighter; and the prospect of detention with Snape loomed ever nearer.

Later that night, Daniyel sat in the Gryffindor common room with Ron and Hermione, struggling through his homework, as he scrubbed unconsciously at his fingernails. During the unpleasant three and a half hours that had been detention, Snape had forced Daniyel and Ron to scrub and re-organize the student supply room without magic, placing all the potion ingredients into new jars. As they had been on their way out, Snape had inspected their handiwork, and in the process had somehow knocked over a large jar of flobberworms with what Daniyel could only assume was deliberate intent. By the time he and Ron had finished digging all the worms, shards of glass, and slime out of the porous stone floor, it had been nearly eleven at night, and they had trudged wearily up to Gryffindor Tower, where Hermione sat waiting for them, schoolbooks spread out before her.

Even with Hermione's help, it was well past midnight by the time they were done, and Daniyel stretched wearily, looking up at the night sky that was visible through the tall windows.

"First day of school," he said wearily. "Heh. What a day."

"I'm sure Harry will appreciate all the fine work you've done," Ron said, grinning. "He'll be especially proud of what you've accomplished with Snape. Brilliant."

At his words, Daniyel realized with a jolt that he hadn't thought about Harry or anyone back home since that morning. He suddenly felt immensely guilty about spending most of the day enjoying Hogwarts without a care in the world. And he felt even worse when he thought about what lay at the end of the road. Voldemort. He stared down at his Potions essay with a grunt of assent.

"Cheer up, mate," Ron said brightly, and Daniyel looked up to see both of them watching him. "You don't have time to sulk. Our first Quidditch match against Hufflepuff is coming up in November, so you better not get us in detention again – we need to get you on a broom."

Daniyel laughed. " _Quidditch_? Are you _mad_? That's a terrible idea. I'm definitely doing it!"

"Excellent!" Ron said brightly. "Team practice is tomorrow."

" _Tomorrow?!_ But I haven't even tried it yet…"

This gave Daniyel pause. This was an even more terrible idea than he had initially imagined. He was probably going to utterly embarrass himself – and Harry – in front of the entire team by crashing into the goal posts, or something equally rigid and painful; and that, he reflected ruefully, was probably most definitely a violation of his contract.

"Well, I'll give it a go, anyway…" he said hopefully. _What else was there to do?_ And besides, he'd dreamed of flying on a broomstick since before he'd even read _Harry Potter_.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Daniyel, you should give it a shot, of course," she said, "but flying is really dangerous. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore can come up with a good excuse for you to temporary leave the team if it's too difficult."

Ron looked at her like she was mental.

"Leave the team?!" he gasped. " _Harry can't leave the team!_ "

"But, Ron, he doesn't even know how to fly on a broom."

"Who knows?" Ron said smugly. "Flying is a sport – it has nothing to do with magic. You'll eat your words, Hermione. You'll see!"

Daniyel let them bicker it out as his thoughts drifted to Harry's Firebolt upstairs. Did he dare take that glorious broom and fly it through the open air? He thought that maybe he did. After all, how could he take on Voldemort, if he couldn't even take on a broomstick? And if he was truly Harry, if Harry himself were here, he knew Harry would take on anything.


	6. Pretending

**Chapter Six:**

_Pretending_

.

When Harry awoke the following morning, in hours so early they could still be classed as night, the house was silent and sheathed in darkness. He stole quietly out of his unfamiliar bed and traced his way around the foreign room, committing every inch of it to memory. Daniyel's belongings, which had seemed so ordinary in the bright light of yesterday, looked eerily sinister now. It was almost as if the room, with its wide array of things steeped in sentimental value entirely foreign to him, was a prison; a place to lock him away, far from everyone he knew. The bookcase, perhaps, was the most imposing of all.

His eyes flashed to the projector disc - laying beside his pillow, where he had abandoned it. His only link to the world that, until yesterday, had been his home. He inhaled sharply, forcing thoughts of Hogwarts from his mind. It was just past four in the morning, according to the digital clock beside the bed. Much too late - or early - to give in to the temptation the projector presented. He was no stranger, after all, to being alone.

His insides, he realized, were aching with hunger; adding on to the ever-present dull ache in his head. He walked silently to the door and pulled it open, stepping out into the deserted hallway.

He nearly tripped over the dog.

Harry jumped back quickly as she bounded to her feet and turned to glare at him, a small growl building up in her throat.

" _Silencio!_ " he whispered hurriedly, jabbing his wand in her direction as she let out a series of now-silent barks, her jaw opening and closing soundlessly as she sprang in his direction. He wasn't sure if he imagined it, but her expression seemed rather reproachful as she continued to lunge at him, nipping slightly at his feet. Guiltily, he dropped to his knees in front of her and cautiously stretched out his hand, trying not to think of Ripper and hiding up a tree.

"Hey there, dog," he mumbled, searching his memory for her name. "Binka?"

She bared her teeth in a silent growl, and he resisted the temptation to jerk his hand away. It was one thing with Fang, who was constantly happy to see him and slobbered all over his lap at every opportunity, but angry small dogs were something else entirely.

"We met yesterday, remember?" he whispered hopefully. "You let me pet your head. Did you forget me already?"

She stared at him, nonplussed, as he slowly reached his hand toward her, palm open, and let her sniff it again. She did, and he cautiously scratched her under the chin. She jerked her head away and jumped back in one motion, but returned quickly, her curiosity winning over. He reached tentatively forward again and scratched her behind one ear this time, as he had often done with Fang. She leaned into the motion, and he allowed his face to break into a slight grin.

"Will you bark if I lift the charm?" he asked her, feeling slightly absurd for expecting a dog to respond. When she didn't, as expected, he slowly raised his wand, pointed it at her again, and lifted the enchantment. Thankfully, she didn't make a noise, and he spent the next several minutes sitting cross-legged on the floor of the hallway, petting her head. It only took her five minutes to crawl into his lap and plant herself there, like a small furry stuffed animal of the kind Dudley had enjoyed, when he was too little to be a prat.

She was quite cute, really. About the size of Crookshanks. Not like Ripper at all.

His stomach shifted uncomfortably, the hunger becoming more pronounced. When had he eaten last? The muffin in the hospital seemed ages ago now.

"Sorry, girl," he told Binka softly as he shifted her gently to the floor. She let out a forgiving whine as he upended her and stretched, keeping her eyes locked on him. He stood slowly, his legs slightly numb from their prolonged contact with the floor and Binka's weight, and made his way quietly down the stairs. He heard the click of her nails against the floor as she padded after him, darting ahead of him as neared the bottom of the grand staircase, her tail bouncing in the air behind her.

Well versed in the habit of finding food in the dead of night, he slipped silently into the empty kitchen, past counters covered in small appliances, and an island, slightly cluttered with the accouterments of a life he didn't know. It was a roomy kitchen, and he could see that it would be bright during the day - flooded with daylight though the many windows along its eastern wall and the sliding door out to the backyard. Currently, it was bathed in moonlight. It was clean, he supposed, but certainly cluttered enough to give Aunt Petunia a panic attack. The thought made him grin slightly as he pulled the fridge open, blinking as its warm light spilled across his face.

For a moment, this experience of sneaking down to the kitchen so painfully familiar, he almost expected it to be packed with carrot sticks and grapefruit halves. Fortunately, that was not the case, and he was instead presented with a wide array of Tupperware and take-away containers, various beverages, a chunk of cheese wrapped in plastic, and a large pot that took up an entire shelf. He stared at the spread, momentarily frozen as he tried to sort out what would be the least missed, until the fridge started to beep softly and jarred him back to reality. Then, a half-remembered comment from Mrs. Bluelake jumping to the forefront of his mind, he carefully slid the pot off the shelf and discovered that it contained chicken vegetable soup.

He rummaged through the kitchen until he found dishes, located the microwave, and fixed himself a bowl. It was quite delicious.

He couldn't help but think, as he sat at the island sipping the hot broth, how absurd it was to sneak around this kitchen in the dead of night. Certainly, Daniyel was welcome in this home, and he had no reason to hide in the darkness. But the moonlight falling across the glistening white countertop was captivating, and he stared at it, his thoughts running away from him, as the moonlight was overtaken by the soft grey light of dawn.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, watching the soft tendrils of light creep in through the windows and slowly flood the kitchen with the pink glow of sunrise as his thoughts raced hurriedly through his mind; but the muffled sounds of voices startled him back to awareness. He jumped to his feet, his eyes darting warily around the kitchen, subconsciously looking for an escape route. It sounded like they were making their way down the stairs, and he could probably slip out of the kitchen and avoid them, but the sound of Daniyel's name gave him pause, and he froze by the sink with his empty bowl, listening.

"…Dan to do, Lisa," Mr. Bluelake was saying. His voice was pitched low, but Harry could nevertheless hear it quite clearly in the silence of the house. "It's not a dangerous profession by nature. It was an accident. They can happen anywhere."

"I know," Mrs. Bluelake said. "But still, you can't pretend it wasn't terrifying."

"Of course not."

"Are we terrible parents? No, Josh, I'm serious, I keep wondering about this. It's not just about the light. I mean, should we really be letting him do this? Is this really the life we wanted him to have?"

"I think he's old enough to decide what sort of life he wants for himself now, don't you think? And he's got a contract. He couldn't just stop even if he wanted to."

"I know, but…"

Harry quietly lowered his bowl into the sink and made to tiptoe out of the kitchen through the dining room, desperately hoping to avoid Daniyel's parents realizing he had overheard their argument, but as he crept around the table, he stumbled over one of Binka's chew toys and sent it skidding across the floor with a resounding clatter as he clumsily grabbed onto a chair to keep from falling. There was an audible gasp and hurried footsteps, and before he could so much as straighten up, bright light flooded the dining room and Daniyel's parents both burst into view, staring at him in surprise.

"Dan!" Mrs. Bluelake said, sounding slightly flustered. "What are you – are you all right?"

"Sorry," Harry said quickly, letting go of the chair. "I was just getting some soup."

Her face softened. "You hardly need to apologize! Are you feeling better? Did you eat enough? You must be starving. We were about to make breakfast."

"I'm OK, I had plenty of soup," Harry said. "It was delicious. Thank you." And then, because the moment was incredibly awkward, and he had no idea how Daniyel would have handled it, but he thought it was quite pointless to pretend he hadn't heard them, he added, "I'm sorry I scared you both. But I'm told these kinds of accidents don't happen often…"

"I'm sorry, Dan," Mrs. Bluelake said, exchanging a quick glance with Mr. Bluelake. "We didn't mean… We were just worried."

"Me too," Harry allowed. "Falling lights are concerning and all." _Among other things…_

Mr. Bluelake chuckled. "Well, his sense of humor's intact, Lisa. Dan, I was going to make bacon and eggs. Stick around."

"Er," Harry said, wavering. He wanted nothing more than to escape back to Daniyel's room, but they were both looking at him expectantly, and he didn't want to do anything else that might upset Daniyel's parents or his acting career. "All right."

"Excellent," Mr. Bluelake said, striding past him into the kitchen. "Have a seat. Go on."

Harry sat down at the table as Mr. Bluelake started bustling around in the kitchen. Mrs. Bluelake stepped up to him, hovering in the entryway.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I didn't mean for you to hear that. What you must think…"

"Don't worry… Mum," Harry said, keeping his face as neutral as he could around the word, "I'm OK. _Really_. And I love – er – acting."

"I know," she said. " _I know you do_. And I don't want you to feel like we don't – like _I don't_ – support you. We always have, and we always will. You know that."

Harry nodded silently, unsure what to say.

"I know," she said again, raising her hands in a placating gesture and smiling, "you're too old for this speech. Don't say it. Honestly, I'm just glad you're all right. I'm going to help your father with breakfast, and we'll – we'll just eat as a family for once."

"OK," Harry said.

She smiled and slipped past the threshold into the kitchen. He watched as she filled up the tea kettle while Mr. Bluelake stood at the island, mixing together milk and eggs.

Above everything else, he hoped he hadn't disappointed them.

* * *

 

After breakfast, with no plans for the foreseeable future, Harry found himself back in Daniyel's room at last, pacing around restlessly. As far as he could tell, he had no responsibilities for the present time. Daniyel's parents had not mentioned when he would be returning to work on the movie, and he really didn't want to be the one to bring it up, after the conversation that morning. They had not mentioned school either, though it _was_ Saturday. But did Daniyel even go to school? He wasn't really sure. He would really have to call Sirius on the projector and ask to speak to Daniyel and question him thoroughly about his responsibilities. But it was still quite early in the morning, so he thought it would be best to wait.

Left to his own devices, he wandered over the bookshelf at last, staring at it with some trepidation. It was not quite as imposing now that the sun was streaming brightly through the windows. But it contained, if he suspected correctly, an awful lot of secrets. Secrets he wasn't sure he wanted to know… He studied it, hesitating, until a thick book with a red and blue spine caught his eye: _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_.

Unable to restrain his curiosity, Harry pulled it down from the shelf. If the book Ella had shown him yesterday had been about his second year at Hogwarts, then surely this book must be about his fourth year. _Last year._ He wondered if he dared read it.

He sat down on the bed, still holding the book, and stared at it intently. It was quite thick. Thicker than the last one. Well, it had been a loaded year, all right. Too loaded… In the end, he found his hands opening it before he had quite got his mind around it. Before he knew it, he had flipped it open to the first chapter: _The Riddle House._

_The villagers of Little Hangleton still called it 'the Riddle House,' even though it had been many years since the Riddle family had lived there…_

The voice of the narrator drew him in, and before his mind had caught up, his eyes had flown through the first page, and then the second. By the time Harry finished chapter two, his hands were shaking. The book slipped out of his fingers and tumbled to the floor, where he stared at it, dumbfounded.

The first chapter had outlined every detail of his dream, and then some. _The dream he could barely remember._ All the information was right there! Anyone who read this book had known that it was Bertha Jorkins that Voldemort had murdered. _But he hadn't_. Every reader had known about Voldemort's plan. _But he hadn't remembered it._ It hurt more than he could have imagined, to realize how different things could have been, if this information had been available to him just a year earlier. If only he had been able to recall the details of that dream... but he had barely bloody bothered. _Everything was his fault._ He could have stopped Voldemort. _He could have prevented it._ The weight of it all was so heavy. He didn't think he could possibly keep reading. He didn't want to see what else lay hidden in its pages. He couldn't bear to see his thoughts laid out for the world to see, with all his flaws exposed.

He slumped back on the bed, his curiosity entirely shattered, wondering if he could hide in this room all day – and for the rest of the time he was here. Maybe if he refused to leave this room, he would fade away. Disappear. He didn't need to go anywhere – after all, he had his own bathroom.

As he lay staring at the ceiling, he heard the doorbell chime below, followed immediately by Binka's energetic barking. There was the sound of the door opening and then the indistinct voices of Mrs. Bluelake engaging in conversation with someone. The daily motions of a life he didn't belong to. He stared around blankly, disregarding the noise, until he heard loud footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later, a familiar voice called his name. _Harry_. He sat up in shock to see Ron and Hermione standing in the doorway. His face began to break into a grin, until he realized that, of course, it wasn't actually them. Robert then. And Ella.

"Hey there, Harry," Ella said brightly. "We thought we'd come check up on you."

"And we brought you some research materials." Robert grinned, holding up a binder.

"Don't look so disappointed now," Ella added. "I promise, we're loads of fun."

A little while later, the three of them were cloistered in the vegetable garden behind the house. They sprawled comfortably in the shade of a tall tree, next to the patch of fledgling tomato plants in a little makeshift greenhouse. Robert's binder was spread out on the grass before them.

"So this," Robert said, pointing at a photo of Draco Malfoy, "is Timothy Alister. He plays Draco, and we call him Tim. This is Richmond Cross. Dumbledore. This is Cordelia Brown. McGonagall."

Harry took a sip of his drink as he tried to memorize all this new information. It was a surreal experience to say the least.

"This is Rebecca – Becky. She plays Ginny," Ella contributed, pointing unnecessarily.

"I don't know how I'm going to remember all this," Harry said truthfully, rubbing his still-aching head.

"Remembering things is your new job, unfortunately," Robert said with an understanding grin. "Once production resumes, you'll have to work with all these people and remember lines as well."

"Any idea when that'll be?" Harry asked as he flopped onto his back and stared up at the sun filtering through the canopy of leaves overhead. It had risen fully now, bringing forth a pleasantly warm afternoon.

"We haven't heard anything yet," Ella said. "The production's suspended indefinitely while they fix the set and check for any other issues. And while you recover, of course. We'll still have classes in the mornings though." She looked incredibly disgruntled about it, but at least that answered the question about school he hadn't yet thought to ask.

"Lots of time for you to catch up on your studies, Ella," Robert said.

" _Shut up_ , Rob!"

Harry laughed at the bizarreness of a Hermione who was disappointed by lessons, and a Ron who was admonishing her to study.

"Have you talked to anyone from Hogwarts since last time?" Ella asked him, playing with the rim of her soda can. "Do you know how Dan's doing?"

Harry sat up abruptly. Between meeting Daniyel's parents and trying to settle in at the Bluelake household, he had all but forgotten his last encounter with Robert and Ella, and how it had ended. And of course, they didn't know about the conversation after.

"Yeah, I have," he said. "That night, after you left. I spoke to Daniyel – he's OK. And he's going to do it. Fight Voldemort. He wants to."

Robert and Ella didn't seem surprised.

"We figured he would," Ella said. "Dan's not one to back down from a challenge. He's fought for everything he wanted his whole life. When there's something he has to do, he just does it. According to him, that's the only way forward."

"It sounds like you know him pretty well," Harry said. They both nodded.

"Dan and I are childhood friends, actually," Ella said. "We auditioned for the movie together. It's what he always wanted."

"We met after we were cast," Robert added, "but sometimes I feel like I've known him forever. He's a great guy, Dan."

Harry nodded and looked down. He didn't know what to say, or how he could possibly apologize to them enough for putting their friend in danger.

"It's not your fault, Harry," Robert said, correctly interpreting his silence. "You didn't make this happen."

Harry wasn't entirely sure that was true, and he felt a strong urge to confess his feelings, but he didn't want to alienate the only two people in this world who knew who he actually was.

As if following his train of thought, Ella said, "Harry, we know how you must feel right now. And we know you're still upset about what happened with Cedric." Harry looked away, feeling a fresh wave of shame at the realization that they had read all those books he didn't dare get through – that she must have been privy to every stupid thought he'd ever had.

"It's OK," she continued. "Dan must have so many people at Hogwarts supporting him right now. Dumbledore and Sirius. Ron and Hermione. And he knows _everything_ there is to know about Hogwarts. He's living the dream, Harry."

"My life is hardly a dream," Harry said bitterly.

"We know," Ella said patiently. "But either way, don't worry about Dan. He's going to be fine. He can do this. He will, _because he has to_. But Rob and I just wanted you to know you're not alone here either. You can always talk to us."

"That's right," Robert said. "If you ever want to have an emotional bro talk, I'm down, mate."

Harry forced out a laugh and looked away, out over the garden. Their show of solidarity was definitely a comforting feeling. And it _did_ make him feel very slightly less alone.

"All right," he said, his voice slightly rough. "If Dan's going to face Voldemort for me, the least I can do is memorize all these names. Let's have another go."

"Actually, let's take a break from those for a bit," Robert said, "and see what your acting skills are like."

He grinned and threw Harry a script. Harry glanced at it curiously. It outlined a conversation between him and Ron.

**RON:**

Harry, c'mon. We're due at the Quidditch pitch.

**HARRY:**

All right, let's go.

Harry read through the rest of it quickly. It seemed pretty straightforward. He wondered what on earth Daniyel was going to do when he discovered the Quidditch pitch. Had Ron taken him to see it already? There was a match against Hufflepuff coming up… he'd really have to give Sirius a call and see if he could speak to Ron and–

"Are you ready?" Robert asked, interrupting his train of thought.

"Sure, let's try it," Harry said, hurriedly shoving thoughts of Daniyel and the upcoming match to the back of his mind.

"Excellent, I'll be Carlos!" Ella said with glee. " _Action!_ "

"Harry c'mon. We're due at the Quidditch pitch," Robert said, and for a second he sounded so much like Ron that Harry almost forgot where he was. He put down the script and turned Robert. It was time to stop pretending.

Or maybe, it was time to start.

"All right," he said, "let's go."


	7. Steps Apart

**Chapter Seven:**

_Steps Apart_

.

After dinner on Tuesday, Daniyel sat on Harry's bed, staring down at his Quidditch things. He was about to find out exactly how it felt to soar on the Firebolt. Either that, or he was about to find out exactly how it felt to crash into the Whomping Willow. Or the stadium. Or the ground. Either way, it was now or never. Ron walked over to him, holding his Cleansweep Eleven over his shoulder.

"Daniyel, c'mon," he said. "We're due at the Quidditch pitch."

Daniyel glanced at the broomstick at his feet one last time. "OK, let's go," he said nervously.

He slipped on the Quidditch robes and grabbed the Firebolt. Together he and Ron walked to the common room, picked up Hermione – who was wearing her worried face – and walked down to the pitch, where the rest of the team was waiting.

"Finally! You made it," Angelina Johnson called when she saw them approach.

Hermione peeled away from them with a whispered "Good luck!" and drifted off to sit in the stands.

"We were about to give up and start without you!" Angelina continued, looking slightly annoyed. "All right, mount your brooms, everyone. Our match against Hufflepuff is right around the corner. Our first step to winning that cup is beating these Puffs! Let's do this!"

"Come on, Captain," Ron said. "We're only five minutes late."

"Every minute counts when you're trying to be the best, Ron! I'm counting on every single one of you to keep that cup at home for Gryffindor! Do you people read me?"

"Odd," George said casually, "I thought we got rid of Wood, but somehow, here he is." Angelina glared at him.

"Looks like someone's on a bit of a power trip," Fred said to George in a very audible whisper; however, everyone found this amusing, Angelina included.

"Watch it!" she called and chucked the Quaffle at him. Fred caught it.

"My, my, are you trying to take my Chaser spot?" she asked innocently.

Fred laughed. "Hardly, but I'll take _you_ somewhere, if you like," he said, winking at her. He shot up into the air before she could respond, with George right behind him, and tossed the Quaffle down at her from above. She caught it, blushing furiously, and shot up into the air after the twins, with Alicia and Katie on her heels.

Ron jumped onto his Cleansweep, grinned at Daniyel, and rose slowly to hover about ten feet above the pitch. "Get on!" he mouthed.

Daniyel mounted the Firebolt and took a deep, slow breath. This was it – _the big moment_. He was abruptly seized with a sudden fear that he wouldn't be able to fly at all. Why hadn't he come out earlier to practice? Why had he wasted the weekend? _Was he a complete idiot?_

He stood there, hesitating, as Ron hovered above him.

"Come on!" he called again.

 _Screw it_ , Daniyel thought. It was going to work or it wasn't, but either way he couldn't keep standing there debating what would happen.

He kicked off from the ground, hard, and to his immense relief, the Firebolt shot straight up into the air.

It was amazing. The wind whipped his hair wildly across his face. He pushed it away and found that he wasn't afraid to take one hand off the broom. It was almost like picking up a bicycle after not riding one for years and remembering how to balance without falling. He leaned forward slightly and the broom leveled out beside Ron, who gave a quiet whoop of approval while Daniyel grinned widely. The broom felt a bit unsteady in his hands, but he could feel his confidence growing with every second spent atop it. He circled Ron slowly, trying to get the hang of the steering, and by the time they rose up to meet the rest of the team and Angelina let out the balls, he found that he was actually having fun.

"OK," she yelled as the Snitch and Bludgers soared away from them, "Alicia, Katie, and I will practice Chaser formations. Fred, George, try to stop us from scoring. Ron, defend the hoops. Harry, get the Snitch. Let's go, team!"

Daniyel nodded tensely and rose higher above the pitch, as he knew Harry was prone to doing. He gazed around the field. He could see Katie, Alicia, and Angelina throwing the Quaffle to one another enthusiastically. Fred and George were taking turns aiming Bludgers at them and subsequently forcing the girls to perform several rather impressive maneuvers to keep from being unseated.

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie flew toward the hoops at Ron's end of the stadium. Angelina threw the Quaffle to Alicia and she hurled it at the middle hoop. Ron caught it with his fingertips. Everyone cheered. Ron threw the red ball back to Alicia, who threw it to Katie.

Katie took another pass at the hoops and this time she managed to fly past Ron's defenses by feinting left. As he darted off to the side, she put away the Quaffle through the right hoop. She grinned and slapped hands with Angelina and Alicia.

"Good job, Katie!" Angelina called. "Ron, make sure you keep a close eye on the Chasers, so you can see their intentions clearly!"

Daniyel turned away, trying his best to spot the Snitch and prove he wasn't a completely useless addition to the team. Hermione gave him a thumbs-up as he soared past her lone figure in the stands; which made him feel like he wasn't doing a completely terrible job. He was really starting to feel OK with this whole flying thing. It was incredibly fun, even!

After forty minutes of searching, he finally caught a glint of gold in the light of the setting sun. The Snitch was hovering about ten feet above the ground, on Ron's side of the pitch. He felt a leap of excitement and he leaned forward on his broom, which accelerated quickly. He grabbed on tightly as it shot forward.

He had almost reached the Snitch when he heard Alicia scream behind him.

"Harry! Watch out!"

Daniyel whipped his head around and saw a Bludger heading straight for him. Panicking, he leaned sharply to the right and the Firebolt swung wildly off course. The Bludger missed him by inches but he barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before he realized that the sudden swerve had completely unbalanced him. He tried to put the broomstick back on course, but in his panic he overdid it and the Firebolt rolled over wildly, unseating him. He gripped frantically at the handle, but everything had happened so fast that before he could get a proper hold on it, the broom slipped from his fingers and he was tumbling towards to the pitch, his mind a panicked blur.

He hit the ground hard, and the impact reverberated throughout his whole body. He lay there, dazed, staring up at a steadily darkening sky.

Ron cursed wildly as he watched Daniyel crash to the ground from his position by the goal hoops. He shot forward, accelerating quickly in Daniyel's direction. The fall hadn't been from very high up, but even so, he didn't imagine it had been pleasant. Perhaps there had been some truth to what Hermione had said… And he supposed she would never let either of them forget it, either.

"Dan!" he said urgently, landing next to Daniyel and hopping off his broom. Daniyel stared up at him blearily and then his eyes flicked shut. Fred and George landed beside them, followed by the girls.

"Harry!" Angelina said. " _Shit!_ "

"I'll go get help," George said hurriedly and took off towards the castle. They watched him go as they huddled around Daniyel while the last rays of sunlight faded and darkness settled in around them.

"It wasn't too high up, he should be all right," Angelina said, looking him over anxiously. "We'll have to–"

She broke off abruptly as the night around them grew suddenly darker by a perceptible degree and the air turned icy cold. They whirled around, knowing that only one thing could make a warm October night suddenly feel like midwinter. But even as they rose up, ready to face the Dementors they knew were coming, they were unprepared for the mass of hooded figures making their way across the pitch. They froze in shock as they spotted the Death Eaters.

"Wands out," Angelina whispered. She looked terrified.

Ron raised his wand and stepped forward with the rest, putting himself between Daniyel's limp form and the oncoming Dementors and Death Eaters alike. He cursed inwardly as they formed a half circle. Daniyel wasn't ready for this. Not even close. And Ron wasn't sure he could pull off the Patronus Charm Harry had been intermittently teaching him and Hermione since last summer – ever since Harry and Dudley had run into that Dementor in Little Whinging. And where _was_ Hermione? Ron whirled around wildly, trying to see if she was still in the stands.

" _Expecto Patronum!"_

He heard her call out the spell, the force of her will so strong that he could almost feel the blast from where he stood, and a silver blur burst forth from behind the stands and shot toward the Dementors, corralling them. Hermione emerged from behind the stands in its wake, her wand out, breathing heavily. The cold receded slightly.

Ron barely had time to grin at her when one of the hooded figures shot a flash of purple light in her direction. Hermione dove wildly to the side and the spell hit the stands behind her. There was a loud bang and chunks of wood broke off and tumbled to the ground. Ron heard her muffled scream as the wood rained down around her.

"HERMIONE!"

There was a cold laugh and Ron whirled back around to face the hooded figures. Hermione's Patronus flicked and died, and the cold returned in full force. A gap suddenly opened in the wall of Dementors and Death Eaters and a thin, tall figure stepped through. He slowly and deliberately lowered his hood to reveal the snake-like face of Voldemort, and Ron stumbled back, his hand shaking. He heard gasps and cries around him. Katie moaned softly, raw fear in her voice.

It had not even been a week, since the last attack, and they had been much better off then.

The hooded figures stood aside as Voldemort took several deliberate steps in their direction, his cold eyes trailing from the team as they stood their ground, their wands out defiantly, to the pile of rubble that concealed Hermione, and finally to Daniyel, lying motionless on the pitch. A cold smile curled upon his lips.

"Very well," he hissed. "You are no match for me. Stand back. Put down your wands. Give me Harry Potter, and I will not harm you."

Ron raised his wand higher and pointed it straight at Voldemort. Angelina, Katie, and Alicia followed suit.

"NO!" Angelina screamed, her voice shaking. "We won't give you Harry!"

" _Stupefy!_ " Ron yelled desperately.

Voldemort deflected the spell with a casual flick of his wand and then aimed a silent curse at Ron, who felt as if he had been hit with a battering ram as he was flung backwards.

"NO!" Fred yelled, his voice cracking with terror. He dug into his pocket and then flung something small at Voldemort. Ron watched with half-open eyes as it tumbled gracefully through the air before landing at Voldemort's feet. Flames burst suddenly into being around Voldemort, and spread outward to the Death Eaters and Dementors behind him, lighting up the night with an orange glow. Voldemort's eyes widened as the flames snaked up his robes. The Death Eaters started screaming in pain behind him.

Ron watched in shock as the Dementors began disappearing. The Death Eaters tried putting out the flames, but it appeared their extinguishing charms were ineffective. At that moment, the castle doors banged open and Dumbledore ran out toward the pitch, followed by George and Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape, and Sprout.

Voldemort raised his wand calmly and the flames vanished. He looked around, taking stock of his followers. Most of them were down, their robes smoking.

Dumbledore raised his wand as he ran and a flood of blue light shot out at Voldemort and entangled him within it. His face alive in fury, Voldemort raised his own wand and the blue light exploded outward like a shattered prism, washing over the pitch in all directions as it dissipated. A moment later, Voldemort and the Death Eaters were gone, and the Quidditch pitch was empty of intruders. The darkness lifted by several degrees. If not for the partially collapsed stand, the burn marks on the grass, and Ron and Hermione lying injured on the ground, he might never have been there at all.

* * *

For the second time in the space of a week, Daniyel found himself waking up in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. He sat up, confused, and looked around to see the entire Quidditch team eyeing him anxiously. Ron was sitting on a bed beside him, wearing a matching set of pajamas.

"Good evening," he said brightly. "Did you have a nice nap?"

"What happened?" Daniyel said in confusion. "I remember a Bludger…"

"You didn't hit the Bludger," Angelina told him.

"But you fell off your broom," Alicia supplied.

"And," Katie added, "you haven't been out _that_ long. Only long enough for You-Know-Who to try and kill you! And us!"

"What?" Daniyel gasped.

He looked around wildly, but there was no sign of Voldemort in the hospital wing. George put a hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, Harry. We chased him off for you."

"It was all Fred," Ron added. "What was that, Fred? It was bloody brilliant."

Fred, who was sitting in the corner with a stunned look on his face, cleared his throat and said, "Er – Weasley Flame Flurters. Made them ourselves," he added, indicating George.

"Bloody hell, Fred, you used it?!" George said, rounding on his twin. "You sure kept that quiet."

"Spur of the moment decision, bro."

"How was the precision of the aim?"

"Very accurate."

"And the flame output?"

"You saw for yourself."

"Er – Weasley Flame Flurters?" Ron asked.

"Just a little something we're working on," George said. "For the joke shop."

"What is it, a fire bomb?" Angelina asked. "It looked dangerous."

"Just an offshoot from firework development," Fred said nonchalantly. "We're using it to power the rockets. Great in a pinch."

"So," Daniyel said, trying to get back to the topic at hand, "what happened with Voldemort. How did he break through the wards? Was anyone hurt?"

At his words, the faces of his friends turned solemn and they gazed over towards his right. Daniyel whirled around and a cold fist clenched his stomach as he saw Madam Pomfrey leaning over a bed. When she stepped away, he saw Hermione laying there, her eyes closed.

"She'll be all right," Ron said, all traces of amusement gone from his voice. "She wasn't seriously hurt. Pomfrey patched her up, and she should be out of here by tomorrow. As for the wards… Well we don't know, but Dumbledore seems very angry..."

He trailed off, and Daniyel looked down at his hands as he absorbed the full impact of Ron's words. The wards Dumbledore had set were not effective. The Ministry was not helping to defend Hogwarts. And Voldemort could attack at any moment. They had escaped this time, but it had been a very close call. _Too close_ , he thought, as he looked at Hermione's pale face. He had alighted at Hogwarts in the middle of a war. And next time, he had to be prepared.

* * *

For the third evening that week, Harry sat in Daniyel's room with Ella and Robert, running lines. Production was set to resume in the second week of June, and Harry wanted to be as prepared as possible when the time came.

"Professor," he said, turning to Ella and brandishing his script like a wand, "I saw Voldemort in my dream last night. _Again_. He was very angry. He used the Cruciatus Curse on somebody, but I didn't see their face. I think he plans to attack Hogwarts."

"Thank you, Harry," Ella said serenely, doing her best Dumbledore impersonation. "I appreciate that you came to me with this. Rest assured, the wards around Hogwarts have been fortified to the highest magical extent. We are tracking Voldemort closely, and he will not be able to enter the grounds again."

"But, Professor!" Harry said indignantly. "He's attacked Hogwarts twice already. He–" Harry broke off as he felt something burn hot in his pocket. "Hang on."

He reached inside and pulled out the projector disc.

"Is it Dan?!" Ella cried.

"I dunno, let's see."

Harry cradled the disc in his hands and summoned up the desire to speak to Sirius, to Ron and Hermione, to Dumbledore. The blue dome extended above the disc, and Sirius's face appeared inside.

"Sirius!" Harry said, a huge smile breaking across his face. He, Robert, and Ella crowded around the dome.

"Hey, Harry," Sirius said, giving his godson a warm smile. "Hi, Ella, Robert."

"I'm so glad to see you, Sirius! How's everyone?" Harry asked.

"Well," Sirius said, "unfortunately this isn't purely a social call. Not to worry you, but we've just fended off another attack from Voldemort. We thought you should know."

"Is everyone OK?" Harry said, feeling helpless fear wash over him again. Robert and Ella were looking at Sirius intently, their faces pale.

"Yes, everyone's fine – mainly thanks to Fred and George Weasley. But this is the second time Voldemort's broken through our wards. With the way things are progressing, Dumbledore feels it would be best if you learned the Spell of Return you'll need to get back here as soon as possible."

"You're saying we might have to switch back sooner than we expect?" Harry asked. "But, Sirius, doesn't Daniyel need more time to prepare?"

"The more the better," Sirius said, looking grim. "But we feel it's best that you're completely prepared, too, Harry, so you can be ready at a moment's notice."

"Right," Harry said.

Ella, who had been looking over Harry's shoulder with a very Hermione-ish air, finally seemed to no longer be able to contain herself.

"But, Sirius," she said, "what happened to the Presidium Wards? Weren't they _just_ put in place after the last attack? Surely they should be able to keep Voldemort out!"

Dumbledore's face appeared in the dome besides Sirius's.

"That is the question, Miss Foster," he said. "The Presidium Wards should indeed keep Voldemort off the Hogwarts premises, but unfortunately he broke a hole in the defenses around the Quidditch pitch, and was able to enter the grounds. We are scrambling to find another way to hold him off. Please be assured, we will dedicate every possible effort to maintaining our defenses. Now, Harry, the spell, if you're ready?"

Harry nodded while Ella stepped back and looked at Robert, biting her lip nervously.

"Voldemort didn't break through the Presidium Wards," she mouthed at him. "Not until–" Robert shook his head sharply and she broke off.

"Good," Dumbledore said, either unaware of, or ignoring their exchange. He held up a rolled-up piece of parchment. "The spell is written down here, Harry. I want you to read it over and practice saying it in your mind. When it is time, you must say these words, and infuse them with your will to return. Whatever you do, do _not_ say it out loud until Daniyel and Voldemort are fighting. We are navigating through vastly unexplored territories of magic, and the consequences for acting rashly could be devastating. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded, and Dumbledore touched the tip of his wand to the parchment and passed it to Harry through the blue dome, as if there were only two steps between them, and not a vast expanse of multiple universes. Harry closed his hand over the parchment with a renewed sense of purpose. As he unrolled it, his eyes memorizing the words written hurriedly in fresh ink across the page, he knew that he could close the distance between them. Nothing was insurmountable.

 


	8. Mischief Managed

**Chapter Eight:**

_Mischief Managed_

.

On Halloween morning, Daniyel awoke with an air of excitement. Voldemort had not attacked Hogwarts since the fateful Quidditch practice the previous Tuesday. The Daily Prophet had published another article outlining the latest attack on Hogwarts – without, of course, mentioning Voldemort – which prompted the Ministry to finally contribute to the defensive enchantments around the school. Hermione had left the hospital wing fully recovered, with the story of her brave act spreading through the school like wildfire and earning her solid hero status. Several more people now believed that Voldemort had, in fact, returned. Daniyel had managed to make it through all his classes, including Potions yesterday, without earning another detention from Professor Snape. And tonight was, finally, the Hogwarts Halloween feast. It was already shaping up to be a good day.

As Daniyel, Ron, and Hermione surveyed the pumpkins that had appeared around the Great Hall overnight, Hermione turned to Ron and said, "I hope we can have a non eventful Halloween, for once."

"Where would the fun in that be?" Ron reasoned. "We became friends on Halloween, don't you remember?"

"Yes, I seem to recall that before that happened, you thought I was… what was it again, a _nightmare_ , Ronald?"

"Blimey," Ron said. "That was four years ago. Can we move on?"

Daniyel chortled as Hermione turned away and stuck her nose in the air. Ron looked abashed, but Daniyel could see that Hermione was smiling.

"Done and buried," Hermione said brightly. She turned to Daniyel and offered him a rolled-up scroll of parchment. "Here. My notes on the Substantive Charm. Flitwick said he'll be testing us this afternoon and you need to be able to do it properly."

"Thanks," Daniyel said. "I'm pretty sure I understand the theory, but I could definitely use a bit more practice."

"Of course," she said, "these should help. I've outlined the precise wand movement required for you. If you practice it this morning, I can test you during lunch. Ron can help you."

"Right, thanks Hermione."

She smiled. "You're welcome. I've got to run to Ancient Runes early and have a word with Professor Babbling about my essay. See you at Herbology if I don't find you during the break."

She grabbed some toast and vanished into the sea of chattering students. Daniyel and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table. Daniyel grabbed a platter of scrambled eggs and dumped some on his plate, after removing some errant candy corns.

"You don't mind helping me with the Substantive Charm during our free period, do you?" he asked Ron.

"If you insist," Ron said. He glanced furtively around the table, then added, in a much quieter tone, "But _I_ was personally hoping we could do something a little more fun. Like say… take Harry's map, sneak off to Hogsmeade, and spend the morning in Honeydukes."

"Aren't you supposed to lead by example?" Daniyel asked, amused. "Considering you're a prefect, and all?"

Ron shrugged, as if the mantle of prefect duties was a huge inconvenience and not a badge of honor.

"It's Halloween, Harry-D," he said. "It's time you had a bit of fun around here. As your prefect and – as you so rightly put it – your leader by example, I believe it's time I lead you on your very first quest of mischief. Don't worry; we'll be back in time for Herbology. And we can skip lunch to practice the Substantive Charm if you like. We'll be full from all the excellent Hogsmeade food anyway."

"I don't think Hermione's going to like this very much," Daniyel said, grinning.

"Is that a yes?"

"I feel like we shouldn't, but eh, why not," Daniyel said, shrugging. "Show me an adventure worthy of Ron and Harry."

* * *

An hour later, Daniyel stood huddled under the Invisibility Cloak outside of Honeydukes next to Ron, clutching a bag full of sweets. The Invisibility Cloak had been Ron's one idea of prefectly wisdom. Though considering that Hogsmeade was currently teeming with small witches and wizards dressed in all manner of amazing costumes and that they were all running from store to store with their parents on their tails, Daniyel was constantly in danger of being knocked over. He stood back and surveyed this colorful scene as he popped a second chocoball into his mouth and closed his eyes blissfully as the treat melted on his tongue.

"Brilliant idea, actually," he told Ron after finally swallowing the amazing ball of chocolaty goodness. "I'm glad I got to see this. Where to next?"

"Zonko's?" Ron suggested. "We could get some tricks. Or the Three Broomsticks?"

"I've always wanted to try real Butterbeer!"

"Treats it is," Ron grinned. He led the way across the village with Daniyel trailing behind him.

The pub was lively, with small jack-o'-lanterns on every table. The door had been propped open since trick-or-treaters were constantly running in and out, and between handing out candy and taking orders, Madam Rosmerta took a while to get to them. When they had finally gotten their drinks, they made their way to a table in the corner where Daniyel decided it was safe to pull off the cloak. With the pub close to bursting, no one gave them a second glance.

"We'll just stay here for a bit, and then head back to Hogwarts," Ron said, cradling his glass. "We should be back right in time for Herbology."

Daniyel nodded and took a sip of his drink. It tasted even better than he had imagined. He sat in silence for a bit, watching the costumed children run in and out of the pub. There was a little boy who was – as far as he could tell – Godric Gryffindor, judging by the sword he was carrying. There was a little girl walking around with such realistic bright red dragon wings, that he could have sworn they were growing out of her back. And then, there was a little boy in black robes, with round glasses and a prominent scar on his forehead.

"Awww look," Daniyel said. "It's a little Harry!"

Ron laughed so hard he nearly choked on his drink.

"So," he said, "when he had regained control of his voice. What's it like, your Muggle world?"

Daniyel shrugged. "It's OK. I don't think it's that different from your Muggle world, really."

"And you really couldn't do any magic until you came here?" Ron asked curiously. Daniyel shook his head.

"No, but I've always wanted to!"

"So you knew it existed?"

"No," Daniyel said, shaking his head again. "It's complicated. We have a lot of books about magic, and I always loved reading them, but I never thought any of them were real. Just me being here, this puts a lot of things into perspective. Just the fact that Hogwarts is real makes me wonder about every other world that could exist."

"Maybe every story is real somewhere," Ron ventured.

"Yeah, maybe!"

They lapsed into silence again as they sipped their drinks.

"Thanks for bringing me here, Ron," Daniyel said finally. "I've always wanted to see, you know, all this"– he gestured happily around the pub –"and I appreciate that you're giving me the best friend treatment. It means a lot. Really."

"It's no big deal," Ron said, his ears turning a slight shade of pink. "Lighten up. I'm just doing what Harry would do. The right thing, and all that."

"Well I appreciate it." Daniyel grinned. "Hogwarts is amazing."

"It's not bad," Ron agreed. "Solid place. Good food. Cool magical creatures that wanna rip your head off."

"Everything one could ever want in a school of magic," Daniyel said seriously.

He reached for his drink again when suddenly they heard a piercing scream outside, followed by a resounding crash that violently shook the windows of the Three Broomsticks. A second later, the glass in the windows shattered with the force of a small explosion and the pub erupted in panicked screams. They instinctively flung their arms over their heads as parents pushed their children to the ground to shield them from the flying shards. Ron and Daniyel jumped up as the glass cleared and Daniyel found his hand clenched tightly around his wand.

"Blimey," Ron gasped, staring around. The pub was in disarray. Dust hung heavy in the air, and glass coated everything. More than half the tables and chairs had fallen over, and people were cowering on the floor. Children were starting to cry as the initial shock of the blast wore off. The pub filled with panicked sobs. Daniyel spotted the little Harry Potter climbing to his knees, blood trailing down from an actual scratch on his forehead. His eyes were wide and terrified. A little red wing was peeking out from underneath an overturned table. He felt his blood run cold.

" _Filipendo!_ " Daniyel gasped, pointing his wand at the table, hoping against hope that his newfound attempts at magic would not fail him. _Not now._ The table shuddered and flipped over and he stumbled to the little girl lying underneath it. Her mother beat him to it, shoving past him roughly as she rushed forward.

"Ottie!" she screamed, falling to her knees beside the little dragon. Daniyel stepped back uncertainly as people scrambled past him. It was chaos. A crazed laugh drifted in from outside, followed by another loud bang and more screams. Before he knew it, he was running toward the door, Ron at his heels.

The high street of Hogsmeade was covered in smoke. Several storefronts were shattered, and a fire was burning from the wreckage of a robe shop a few doors down. A tall, thin, hooded man spun around in the middle of the street, laughing wildly. He aimed his wand at several people in turn, who stood frozen, staring at him with terrified eyes: a mother with two small children, two young wizards who looked like they were barely out of Hogwarts, an elderly woman holding a tote full of what appeared to be groceries. There were several people lying unmoving on the street, and Daniyel could see the small frames of children among them. Candy lay scattered upon the ground.

"How about you?" the hooded man shouted in a mocking voice, as he pointed his wand at a tall ashen-faced man who was trying to melt into the Halloween display outside of Honeydukes. "Is it your time today?"

He spun around again, now pointing his wand at a young waitress who had frozen in the doorway of a café down the street. " _Or is it your turn_? Death waits for no one!"

He laughed. A wild, high-pitched laugh, that sounded utterly mad to Daniyel. The man spun around again, his hood falling off to reveal a thin, pale face. Ron gasped.

"It's Travers!" he hissed. "He's supposed to be in Azkaban."

"He looks mad," Daniyel breathed.

Travers had finally settled on a little boy who stood next to Zonko's, his parents nowhere in sight. He couldn't have been older than eight. He was wearing a white cape and gripping his candy bucket tightly, his face marked with tears. His hair was almost as bright red as Ron's, so perhaps when Travers sent purple light hurtling at the boy, it had been a familial instinct that drove him to action.

" _Protego!_ " Ron shouted, aiming the Shield Charm at the little boy. Travers's spell rebounded sharply and hit Zonko's front window. Glass shattered outward in another loud blast and more screams erupted. The little boy dropped to his knees and began to cry in earnest. Travers whirled towards them.

"What's this? What's this?" He laughed again, and then his cold grey eyes locked on Daniyel's. "Potter!" he sang. Another wild laugh. "The Dark Lord will be _so_ pleased!"

He took a step toward them, a huge senseless smile lighting up his face. "I will bring you to him, Potter. And he will reward me. Oh yes."

He took another step forward, and the two young wizards they had spotted earlier broke from their ranks and took off down the street. Travers ignored them. He raised his wand and pointed it straight at Daniyel.

" _Sagitta Ignis!"_ he shrieked. The magic behind his words exploded outward in a rush and arrows of fire shot out of his wand tip and flew straight at Daniyel. Before he could even raise his wand, Ron had pushed past him and thrown out the Shield Charm again. The arrows crashed through the barrier, their course barely altered, and hit Ron with such force that he was thrown back into the doorway of the Three Broomsticks. He screamed and Daniyel saw in horror that the arrows had sunk deep into his arm and shoulder, and were transforming into a raging fire that was burning through his robes.

" _A-_ _Aqua Eructo_!" he gasped, and managed to produce a jet of water that he aimed at Ron. The arrows and the fire they created vanished, and Ron lay panting on his back, blood and soot staining his robes.

"Oh excellent, excellent," Travers cried, his voice rising in a high pitch. "Nothing like a good battle first. Pleasantries _must_ be observed. Let's play, Harry Potter. Your move!" He laughed again. "Hurry now, before I burn down this whole village. All the children here. It sets my blood boiling!"

" _Stupefy!_ " Daniyel yelled, whirling away from Ron in a panic and jabbing his wand at Travers.

"Just kidding!" Travers shouted gleefully. " _F_ _i_ _lipendo Tria_!"

A miniature twister erupted from his wand and shot towards them, knocking the Stunner off course. Daniyel dropped to the ground and flung his arms over his head as it ripped the Three Broomsticks sign off the door and debris rained down on them. It hit the ground with a thunderous crash, inches away, and in his mind he remembered the sting of the fire as a burning light had hurtled down at him from overhead. The memory was so strong it almost overwhelmed him, but he pushed it away, stuck out his wand in Travers's direction and shouted, " _Expelliarmus_!"

He heard a furious scream and hurriedly stumbled to his feet, pushing fallen debris aside. His glasses were stained with grime and he threw them aside as he glared at Travers, who was spinning around wildly, looking for his wand. Daniyel had managed to catch him unaware.

"Wand, wand, wand," he chanted, spinning in circles, his prey momentarily forgotten. "Where are you, my lovely?"

"Ron!" Daniyel hissed, looking around frantically for the redhead.

"I'm here!" Ron grunted in a choked voice, and Daniyel saw his hand reaching out from beneath a section of torn off window frame. He hauled Ron to his feet, pushing the window aside, and Ron stumbled up beside him. Several cuts on his face were bleeding copiously, and blood was also trailing down from the wounds on his left side, where his robes were soaked bright red. He grabbed hold of Daniyel's shoulder to stay upright.

"Bloody hell," he growled, as Travers continued spinning in circles on the street while the trapped onlookers backed away nervously. "Next time I want to sneak off to Hogsmeade, remind me why it's a terrible idea."

He raised his wand and aimed it at Travers. " _Stupefy!_ " he choked out. But his hand was shaking badly and the spell barely brushed Travers as it flew past. "Shit!"

Enraged, Travers whirled toward them and set them in his sights again, his gaze purely animal. Abandoning his search for his wand, he let out a guttural shriek and launched at them.

Purely on instinct, Daniyel pushed Ron aside, towards the wall of the Three Broomsticks, and as Travers reached him, he struck out subconsciously with his right fist and landed an uppercut to his chin. Travers drew back like a wild animal, spittle flying from his mouth. His teeth were bared in a scowl. Daniyel's hand was stinging from the impact, but he wasn't sure that the punch had hurt Travers at all. Travers rounded on them again and Daniyel threw another punch at him, putting all his strength behind it; but undeterred, Travers grabbed hold of his fist and stopped it mid-swing with a surprising amount of strength. Daniyel inhaled sharply and hissed in pain as Travers dug his long sharp fingernails into his skin. He was so close that he could feel Travers's breath on his face. Travers laughed again, his eyes wild and empty. He abruptly reached out with his other hand and grabbed Daniyel around the throat.

"It's over, Harry Potter. You'll be coming with me."

Daniyel gasped, trying to draw in air past the pressure on his neck. He kicked out with his leg but it seemed to have no effect. It was almost as if Travers couldn't feel pain. Black spots were starting to gather at the edges of his vision. For a terrified moment, he wondered if Travers would kill him right then without meaning to. His left hand scrambled frantically for his wand but he couldn't draw breath to talk, and his mind was growing foggy – his repertoire of useful spells seemingly very far away.

Suddenly there was a shout and a flash of red light, and Travers stiffened and collapsed to the ground, releasing Daniyel. He looked up in shock, his vision clearing as he took several gasping breaths, and saw half a dozen hooded figures standing on the street before him. They were cloaked in black and his first thought was that they were Death Eaters, joining the battle, but then he saw the red stoles across their robes.

The one closest to them was pointing a wand in their direction, and Daniyel knew that he had shot the Stunner.

"Harry," he said in an even voice. "Ron. What are you doing here?"

Ron stumbled toward Daniyel, gaping at the hooded figures. "I know that voice," he choked out. "That's–"

But Daniyel didn't need the confirmation. When the figure dropped his hood, as he knew he would, he was already prepared to see the anxious face it would reveal: Remus Lupin.

"The Order of the Phoenix," he finished.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've mentioned before that Trading Places is a complete re-write of a story I wrote a long time ago. When I took up the project again, I used the original Trading Places as an outline of sorts, and until this moment, the events that have happened have more or less followed the events that have happened before. This chapter is the first moment where the story finally began to diverge and run off into a whole new direction... and I'm really excited about that! I hope you guys will enjoy some of the things I have planned for Harry, Daniyel, Ron, Hermione, Ella, and Rob... and by extension everyone else.


	9. The Order

**Chapter Nine:**

_The Order_

.

"What?" Ron said stupidly.

Lupin lowered his wand and approached them.

" _What_ ," he repeated, " _are you doing here?_ Why aren't you at Hogwarts?" His face was grim and Daniyel knew he was upset with them. Angry even.

The other hooded figures stepped closer, taking stock of the street, helping people off the ground. Examining the victims. A large black dog bounded toward them. Lupin grabbed him by the scruff of his neck before he could reach them and Daniyel had the distinct impression that he was restraining Sirius from transforming back into his human shape. Padfoot whined.

"Professor Lupin," Ron managed, when Daniyel didn't say anything, "we're really sorry. We were just – we just wanted… some Butterbeer," he finished lamely. "What are you doing here? What's the Order of the Phoenix?" He leaned heavily against the wall, wiping blood out of his eyes.

"Quiet!" Lupin said sharply, his gaze softening as it moved over Ron. "Sit down, Ron, you're bleeding. Harry, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Daniyel mumbled, still staring around in shock. Lupin released Padfoot and the shaggy dog ran toward Travers's limp form. He growled as he nudged the unmoving man and then stood up on his hind legs and put his two front paws onto Daniyel's chest. Daniyel looked down at him, trying to get his bearings. Lupin crouched down in front of Ron, who had slid to the ground.

"We have to get you both back to Hogwarts before the Ministry arrives," Lupin said urgently, examining Ron's lacerations. "We'll explain back at the castle. We can't discuss this here." He pointed his wand at some of Ron's more serious looking wounds and muttered, " _Vulnera Sanentur_. That should help a bit."

He then pointed his wand at Travers, lifted his limp form into the air, and stepped away toward the other hooded figures. Daniyel sat down on the ground beside Ron and Padfoot lay down at their feet protectively.

"What was that with Travers?" Ron said weakly. "Were you planning to beat him up?"

"Possibly?" Daniyel said, shaking his head as he realized how stupid the notion had been. He didn't have an entirely clear memory of what had transpired in the last few minutes. Everything from the moment of the first blast was a bit of a blur in his mind, and now that the imminent danger was over, he found that his hands were shaking. He leaned against the wall next to Ron and dug his glasses out of the rubble.

"I used to do a lot of kickboxing when I was younger," he said quietly, slipping the glasses back over his nose. "Just instinct, I think."

"Muggle fighting," Ron said wisely. "When magic doesn't work, just punch 'em in the face." He laughed, and Daniyel joined in. Once they started, they couldn't stop.

"Hermione," Ron chortled, "is going to murder us when she finds out why we're not in Herbology." He looked wistfully at Travers's floating body. "I say he got off easy."

* * *

Cleaned up and bandaged, Daniyel and Ron were sitting in what was quickly becoming their most frequented location at Hogwarts: the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had just finished applying a healing ointment to Daniyel's injured hand when Hermione burst through the door, which banged shut behind her loudly and startled Madam Pomfrey into nearly dropping a tray of disinfecting potions.

"Miss Granger!" she cried, affronted. "Please treat my ward with respect, or I shall have to ask the headmaster to remove you."

Hermione ignored her as she wended her way though the beds toward them.

"I just heard," she panted. "Are you hurt? What happened? You complete _idiots_!"

Ron glanced at Daniyel over Hermione's head and mouthed, "I told you."

She rounded on Ron. "You took him to Hogsmeade _, didn't you?_ You _know_ Voldemort is after him. How could you _be_ so irresponsible?"

Ron suddenly seemed to find his fingernails fascinating. Seemingly further incensed by his silence, Hermione whirled on Daniyel. "And _you_! You should know better!"

"I know." He looked down, ashamed.

"You're supposed to be training, getting better at magic! You're supposed to be studying! You're supposed to be taking this seriously!"

"I know."

She threw up her hands in frustration. "You could've both been killed!"

"I know," Daniyel said again, guilt wrecking him completely. Ron kept staring at his hands. Hermione glared at them both, then flung her arms around their necks without warning. A moment later she jumped back up and turned away. Daniyel and Ron exchanged a glance, unsure what to do.

"Hermione, we're fine," Ron said finally. "It all worked out. We won't do it again. I promise."

"Good," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Now tell me what happened."

They did, and when they were finished, Hermione's eyes were wide with curiosity; which was a relief, since she had momentarily forgotten she was angry.

"So the Order of the Phoenix saved you? And _Professor Lupin_ is in it? Don't you know _anything_ else about it?"

"Professor Lupin promised to explain it all," Ron said," when we got back." They both looked at Daniyel expectantly.

"Don't ask me, I can't help you," he said quickly. Dumbledore would certainly not be pleased if he started sharing any of the information he knew, and Daniyel thought he had managed to get into quite enough trouble for one day.

The door to the hospital wing opened again and Lupin strode in. He smiled when he saw them, his eyes lingering slightly on Daniyel.

"Good, I'm glad you're both all right. And, Hermione, you're here too. Good, good. I'll need you all to come with me. Don't worry, Poppy, I'll return them shortly."

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked as they followed him to the door past Madam Pomfrey's wordless objections.

"Dumbledore's office. The situation has changed, and there are things the three of you need to know."

They followed him silently down the hall, and as they stepped into the privacy of Dumbledore's moving staircase, Lupin turned back to look at them and said, "I know who you are... Daniyel."

"Oh," Daniyel said. "Er – OK. Cool."

Lupin looked him over, shaking his head in wonder. "You look just like him. Harry. How remarkable."

"So I've discovered," Daniyel said lightly.

"Remarkable," Lupin repeated. "But never mind, we can talk about that later. Dumbledore has told me about your identity, but the rest of the Order does not know, so for all intents and purposes you are to remain Harry."

"If it isn't broke, don't fix it," Daniyel said, shrugging.

The spiral staircase stopped moving and they stepped off outside Dumbledore's office door.

"Very good," Lupin said, and led the way inside.

The office was full of witches and wizards in black robes, their red stoles gleaming in the late afternoon light. They turned expectantly towards the doorway. Their hoods were down and Daniyel saw some familiar faces as well as some he didn't know. Dumbledore looked up from behind his desk, his expression weary.

"Remus," he said, "thank you for bringing them."

"Harry! Ron!" Sirius stepped toward them from a corner of the office and put his hands on both their shoulders. He looked relieved.

"Yes," Dumbledore said wearily, "I'm glad you're both all right. Considering the circumstances, I will refrain from asking why you were in Hogsmeade instead of in class today."

"We had a free period," Ron mumbled. Dumbledore sighed. Daniyel was sure he heard Hermione suck in an aggravated breath behind him, but very quietly.

"That may be, Mr. Weasley, but a free period does not equate with a trip to the village. Nevertheless, kindly tell us what you saw of the incident in Hogsmeade."

Ron and Daniyel summed it up as best as they could while everyone looked on intently. The blasting curses. Travers's mad laugh. The attack.

"Did anyone get hurt?" Daniyel asked, when they had finished. "The villagers? There were children..."

Dumbledore hesitated, his face grave, and Daniyel saw the answer as clearly as if it had been written in his eyes. "There were some casualties," he said somberly. "Though, admittedly, your presence may well have saved some lives before the Order arrived on the scene."

Daniyel felt a wave of sadness such as he had never experienced before as he thought of the children, out for a fun day of trick-or-treating, unlucky enough to stumble across Travers's path. That little girl. _Ottie_. Had she made it? He exhaled sharply.

"You've got him, haven't you, Professor?" Ron asked in a ragged voice.

"Yes, we have Travers in custody," Dumbledore said calmly. "He is currently sedated, but he has confessed under Veritaserum and your accounts also validate his story."

"Good," Ron said. He clenched his fist tightly. "He wasn't right. Hurting people like that. I'm glad you got him off the street."

"Azkaban can drive a man mad," Sirius said softly, speaking for the first time since they had recounted their story. He shuddered.

"How did he get out?" Hermione asked quietly, cutting across the silence that had fallen upon Dumbledore's office. "Was there a breakout?"

"Not a breakout, so much as the gates have been left open. The Dementors have been leaving Azkaban indiscriminately, it seems, to join Voldemort's ranks; leaving the prisoners unguarded. Walking out of Azkaban these days requires nothing more than the ability to swim to the mainland."

Daniyel, Ron, and Hermione spun around to look at the tall black wizard who had spoken. He was bald, with broad shoulders, and a single gold earring in one ear. His deep and inherently calm voice was tinged with bitterness.

"Harry," Lupin said, "Ron, Hermione. This is Kingsley Shacklebolt, Senior Auror at the Ministry and second in command of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Pleasure," Kingsley said, a small smile gracing his features. "I've heard many things."

"Good things, I hope?" Ron said, his voice still rough with emotion, as he stuck out his hand. Kingsley shook it and then stepped up to Daniyel and Hermione in turn.

"We'll see."

"So, what _is_ the Order of the Phoenix?" Hermione asked, looking at the unfamiliar faces around the room.

"We are the resistance fighting back against Voldemort," Lupin said, stepping forward. "The only resistance right now. Though we're hoping Travers's capture will change this."

He pointed at the various faces around the room. "This is Nymphadora Tonks. Emmeline Vance. Both Aurors at the Ministry. Elphias Doge. Also at the Ministry. Special Advisor to the Wizengamot. Hestia Jones, our third in command. And Arabella Figg."

"Sorry," Daniyel said, confusion snapping him out of his listless state, "what?"

The brown-eyed, auburn-haired witch in the corner grinned at him. She didn't look a day past forty. "What's the matter, Harry? You don't recognize me?" She touched her wand to her face and her hair began to turn grey, starting from the roots and working its way out to the tips. Worry lines etched themselves across her face. As he stared, dumbfounded, she lost several inches in height as her posture became stooped. A second later, a perfect double of Astrid Clark – who had portrayed Harry's elderly neighbor – stood before him. "Is that better?" she added, her voice coming out as a croak. "It's almost like we're about to have tea with Mr. Tibbles, isn't it?"

"Er–" Daniyel said, trying to wrap his mind around this new development. _We're definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto._

"Arabella is an Auror, Harry," Dumbledore said, giving him a swift, penetrating gaze. "She has been stationed at Privet Drive for the last fourteen years." _Protecting Harry_ seemed to be left unsaid.

"Right," Daniyel said slowly. "So this summer, when the Dementors attacked Dudley and I, you were–"

"Watching, of course," she said, dropping her disguise. Her hair darkened back into its natural shade of brown and she stood taller, her face thinning, losing its wrinkles. "Really phenomenal job, getting rid of it. I would've stepped in, had it gotten any worse."

"Right, OK."

Daniyel fell silent, contemplating her words. It was one thing for the fabric of reality to change after he had torn apart the barrier between them, but to discover changes that had taken place before he'd even stepped on Hogwarts ground was exceptionally disquieting. Knowledge had been his only real weapon against Voldemort until this moment and suddenly he was explicitly aware that he knew nothing.

"Is this all of you?" Ron asked, looking around at the robed figures. "What do you actually do?"

"There are many more," Kingsley said. "Many of the teachers. Alastor Moody – I believe you know him. Your parents, Ronald. And your brothers: Bill and Charlie."

"What, _all of them_?" Ron said, gaping. "How come they didn't tell me?!"

Kingsley shrugged mildly. "Order members are sworn to secrecy. It's safer that way."

Ron grumbled something unintelligible.

"As for what we do," Lupin continued, "we fight back against Voldemort and his followers wherever we can. As you saw today. We protect the innocents. We do everything we can to bring him down. Our main priority right now is to convince the Ministry to recognize that the threat of Voldemort is real."

"That's right," Sirius added roughly. "It's our job to protect you. Think about that next time, before you sneak out of the castle. It could've gone much worse than it did today."

"I'm sorry, Sirius, but I don't regret it," Daniyel said, the memory of the little girl lying underneath the table fueling his words. "Ron and I distracted him. Ron stopped him from hurting that little boy. We did what we could… and I'd do it again."

Ron nodded forcefully at his words. The room was silent. Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

"It is not your job to chase after stray Death Eaters, _Harry_. You have your own responsibilities, here within the castle. I want you both to promise me that you will not leave the Hogwarts grounds again." His features softened as he looked at Daniyel. "We _will_ stop him, as soon as we are able. And this will all be over. For good."

Daniyel looked down bitterly, averting his gaze. He might face Voldemort some day in the future, and he might theoretically be able to hold him off long enough for Harry to come back, and they might find a way to destroy him afterward – if they were all incredibly lucky, but how many more very _real_ children would have to die in the meantime while they stood by and watched it happen? After all, what did it matter that somewhere they were only characters within the pages of a book? The scene they had stumbled into today had been as real as anything.

"They won't," Hermione said, stepping up between them. "They definitely won't do it again."

"I promise," Daniyel said quietly, still looking at the floor. Ron nodded in agreement.

"Very well," Dumbledore said. "In that case, Remus will escort you back to the hospital wing. Please remain there until Madam Pomfrey sees fit to release you. And do not discuss the Order with anyone outside this room."

"We won't say a word, Professor," Hermione said, and they turned to follow Lupin out the door.

"I know how you feel," Lupin told them as the door to Dumbledore's office closed behind them. "But we have people, fully trained, who are taking care of these incidents. Dumbledore told me about what you will have to do, Daniyel. And you need to prepare for that, so that when the time comes you are ready. The only way to stop this is to stop Voldemort."

"You weren't there today," Ron said, as they stepped onto the moving staircase. "Not when Travers attacked the little boy."

Lupin let out a ragged breath. "We got there as soon as we could, Ron. The boy is all right. We give you full credit for saving him. But the two of you put yourselves in a very dangerous situation. We'll do better next time, and we only ask that you do the same."

"All right," Ron said.

"It seems you have a lot of people within the Ministry," Hermione said to Lupin. "But do you think capturing Travers will really make a difference? Fudge was not inclined to accept the testimony of Barty Crouch Jr. last summer when you extracted it under similar circumstances."

"There are certain mitigating factors this time," Lupin said, "that make us think he may be more receptive."

"Like the Dementors leaving Azkaban?"

"Yes, like that. Very good, Hermione."

"So your job now is to track down You-Know-Who?" Ron asked. Lupin turned to him and smiled thinly.

"Actually, Ron, Dumbledore wants me to stay a little closer to Hogwarts. Your Professor Hector was in Hogsmeade today, and after seeing the commotion he decided it was time for early retirement. We believe he's made off to Iceland. So I'll be picking up D.A.D.A. again for the time being."

They stopped and stared at him as the moving staircase neared the bottom. A huge smile spread across Hermione's face.

"Welcome back, _Professor_!" she said.

"Wicked," Ron said. "I can't wait to see Snape's face when he finds out."

"Oh he's very much aware," Lupin said seriously. "And speaking of Severus, you should probably know, he's part of the Order too."

"What!" Ron yelped. Just then the staircase stopped and the door to the hallway opened. Lupin smiled.

"No more talk just now, you three. Back to the hospital wing."

He led them to the door of the ward and smiled at each of them in turn before saying, "See you in class," and heading back down the hall.

"Excellent," Ron said as Lupin walked away. He pushed open the door to the ward and they stepped inside. A small redhead was sitting on one of the beds, tapping her foot anxiously on the floor. She jumped up when she saw them.

"Ron!" she cried, darting toward them. "Harry! You're OK!"

"Ginny," Ron said stupidly. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" she repeated, rolling her eyes. "I heard you've been nearly killed in Hogsmeade! For Merlin's sake, Ron! Everyone's worried sick. And look at the state of you!" Her eyes trailed over his many bandages. "And when we got here, you were nowhere to be found, and Madam Pomfrey wouldn't say where you were! Fred and George are off looking for you!" She shot a glare at Hermione, as if admonishing the witch for not coming to find her sooner. Hermione looked suitably ashamed.

"Sorry, Ginny," Ron said, plopping down on his bed wearily. "We were being properly told off by Dumbledore for our many indiscretions. We promised to be good boys and never do it again." Daniyel cracked a smile as he sat down next to Ron.

"You're idiots, both of you," she told them sternly, adopting a tone Hermione would have been proud of. Ron nodded sagely, as if this was not news to him. "What happened out there?"

Hermione briefly summed up the events in Hogsmeade in an emotionless tone while Ron lay back down on the bed and closed his eyes. Daniyel was glad she had taken up the mantle; he did not think he could talk through the story one more time.

"Dumbledore has Travers captured," she finished, avoiding any mention of the Order, "and he hopes it will make a difference in the war. Oh, and Professor Lupin will be teaching D.A.D.A. again."

Ginny nodded, mulling over this information. She turned to Daniyel and Ron.

"You did the right thing," she said softy. "But you're still idiots. I better go find Fred and George and tell them you're all right." She left the ward, leaving the three of them alone. They sat in silence for a while, before Madam Pomfrey bustled back out of her office to check on them.

"You'll have to spend the night, Weasley," she told Ron, looking over his bandages. "Potter, you're free to go."

Daniyel and Hermione left Ron to rest and headed toward the Great Hall. It was past time for the Halloween feast to start, and they had no idea what they would find when they faced the other students.

When they stepped into the Hall, the mood was anything but festive. The house tables were filled and the vast room was abuzz with conversation. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape were missing from the head table, and the mood in the room was dark and anxious. When they walked through the thick doors, there was a pause in the cacophony of conversations and students whirled around to stare intently at Daniyel. He and Hermione paused by the door, looking around at all the gaping faces.

"What do you suppose they know?" Daniyel asked Hermione quietly.

"About the attack for sure. The first year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs saw Professor Lupin bringing you and Ron back to the castle during their flying lesson."

 _But did they know_ , he wondered as his eyes drifted across the length of the Hall, _about the candy scattered across the ground? The cries of the children as they cowered in fear?_ _Did they still believe that Voldemort was not walking amongst them once more?_

Just then, the door behind the head table opened and Professor Dumbledore strode into the Hall. Professor McGonagall was at his side, and behind them, his face pale and his cloak disheveled, was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. The Hall fell into a sudden hush as the students whirled back around to gape at the Minister.

Fudge looked nervously into the staring faces of the students as their expectant silence filled the air with anticipation.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," he said finally in a strained voice, "but you will read about it in the papers tomorrow, and your headmaster felt that I should address you all. You are the future, after all."

He stepped forward, his voice growing slightly stronger, as if he were falling into the familiar pattern of making a speech. "As many of you undoubtedly already know, there was an attack in Hogsmeade earlier today. Ambrose Travers, a convicted Death Eater, attacked a street full of small children and their parents as they enjoyed Halloween festivities in the village. There were many injuries. _And some fatalities_." He looked away, and Daniyel could see the shame spreading across his features. There were gasps and cries from the sea of students.

"Travers," Fudge continued, as panicked whispers rose around the Hall, "escaped from Azkaban in the early hours of this morning, after the Dementors have left their posts. I regret to say this, but he is not the only one to have done so.

"We are at war, children," he finished, his voice ragged, as he looked around at the stricken faces staring back at him. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned."

Daniyel and Hermione stepped back against the wall as all hell broke loose in the Great Hall.


	10. Falling Deeper

**Chapter Ten:**

_Falling Deeper_

.

**He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Returns**

_In the bloody aftermath of a violent attack on Hogsmeade on 31st October, which took the lives of several small children and their parents as they attended Halloween festivities in the village, the Ministry of Magic has shockingly reversed their previous position and announced the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on Tuesday night. The official announcement was made by none other than Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Minister's shocking announcement was made to none other than the entire student body of the wizarding school, and was greeted with much alarm._

_In light of Tuesday's events, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal that the deadly attack was carried out by Ambrose Travers, a convicted Death Eater who had been serving a life sentence in Azkaban for the murder of Marlene McKinnon and her family in 1981. Travers was able to escape the prison after the remaining majority of the Dementors guarding the inmates abandoned their posts to join the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Azkaban has since been brought back under Ministry control, but it has unfortunately been confirmed that several other high-profile prisoners including Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, and Augustus Rookwood have also escaped the prison._

_After leaving the confines of Azkaban, Travers, who has since been recaptured and has confessed under the influence of Veritaserum, set out to reach his master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, by way of Hogsmeade Village, where he destroyed several shops and cafes along the high street with a quick succession of blasting spells. The notable Three Broomsticks sustained heavy damage in the attack and many villagers were caught in the cross-fire. Thirty-four people were injured in the assault, and fifteen people were killed, eight of them children._

_According to several eyewitnesses during the attack, Travers was taken out by several hooded persons in black cloaks who remain unidentified, after engaging in a spell-fight with two young men, who are said to have been wearing Hogwarts uniforms. While unconfirmed, reports indicate that one of the young men was none other than Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. Potter – who claimed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned last June and was responsible for the tragic death of Cedric Diggory – might well be the symbol of a new generation of witches and wizards who are willing to stand up to injustice, whether within our own governing body or brought about by outside forces, and take on the responsibility of doing the right thing._

Ella dropped the Daily Prophet and stared openmouthed at Harry.

"This is completely insane! I can't believe this happened. And you said Dan and Ron fought off this Travers asshole?"

"They did," Harry said. "Sirius gave me the rundown when he handed this over." He leaned down and picked up the newspaper, tucking it into his bag. It was the first day back on set after the accident and they stood in a small huddle in a hallway outside the on-set classroom, munching on croissants and washing them down with scalding tea. Robert frowned at them both.

"All those children," he said sadly, shaking his head as if to clear out the images the article had conjured up. "It's horrible. They must be devastated."

Harry nodded glumly, the croissant turning to cardboard in his mouth. When Sirius had relayed the events to him that morning, the undertone of sadness in his voice had hung around him like a heavy cloud.

" _We were too slow,"_ he had said. _"We got there too late. And we almost lost Ron and Daniyel."_

" _It's not your fault, Sirius,"_ Harry had told him. There was a lot of that going around lately. Diffusing blame.

"But, Harry," Ella said, correctly interpreting his silence, "Dan and Ron did what they could. I don't know that you could've done anything more... And besides, had you never switched places, you and Ron may have never been there to help at all." _And it might have never happened to begin with_ , she added silently to herself, contemplating again the rift in their storylines.

"I know, you're right," Harry said, "but it's just so hard to sit back here and watch them put themselves in danger. Especially when I'm the one that Voldemort wants."

"Who cares what he wants," Robert said astutely. "Voldemort is a narcissistic, sadistic, and classist murderer, who's easily in the same league as Hitler, and it is _not your fault_ that he chose to come after you, or your family, or your friends. So stop blaming yourself for everything already, Harry. Now come on, we have to get going. Once you see the schedule, you'll stop feeling bad for Dan. Or you won't have time to, at any rate."

Ten minutes later, as Harry sat between Robert and Ella and stared down blankly at the test in front of him, he had to admit that Robert had a point. He glanced over at Ella out of the corner of his eye as she scribbled on her paper.

"What the bloody hell," he mouthed, "is y=2x-5x+3?"

Ella glanced at him, shrugged, and tilted her paper in his direction. She had drawn a flower with a rain cloud and a lightning bolt over it and was shading in the petals with her pencil. Harry let out an exasperated breath and glimpsed over at Robert instead. He had created a complex-looking stack of calculations that Harry could make neither heads nor tails of.

Harry sighed, promised himself that he would grill Robert later and figure out the specifics of this strange thing called calculus, briefly entertained himself with the idea of Dudley sorting out these equations, and rested his chin on his hands as he stared blankly around the room.

It was a small room, with about ten students in it, who were all scribbling away at the tests before them. Ahead of him sat Draco – scratch that, _Tim_ – who was focused intently on his paper. This was definitely going to take some getting used to.

Half an hour later, Harry followed Ella and Robert to the front, his test nearly entirely blank. He was the last one to hand it over to Mrs. Stevens, and she looked at it in confusion.

"Daniyel, what's this? I know you've been gone for a couple weeks, but we've been covering this material since April."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, guilt enveloping him once again. "I didn't have a chance to review this ever since the-the accident. And I can't seem to recall the equations."

"Of course," she said, as she picked up his test and flipped though the pages. "It didn't occur to me that you may have trouble remembering. I apologize. Why don't you review the material over the following week and I'll allow you to take a makeup test?"

"OK, thanks."

She crumpled up his test and threw it in the waste bin, and saw Ella's underneath.

"Ella!" she cried in frustration. "We've been going over this material since _April_! This isn't art class!"

"Right, but there was this accident, on set, and–"

Mrs. Stevens's eyes narrowed. "You will retake this test next week with Daniyel, and if you do not do better than this… drawing, then I will have to ask Carlos to take you off the schedule so you can spend more time on your studies."

"Fine," Ella huffed, and stalked out of the room. Robert gave Mrs. Stevens an apologetic look and followed Ella out to the hallway. Harry trailed after them.

"Why did you do that?" Robert asked Ella. She shrugged.

"Honestly, I don't really understand the material. And I don't see what I'm ever going to need it for. Even if I wasn't an actress, what possible profession requires you to solve for x?"

"Engineer?" he suggested. "Architect? Calculus Teacher? Never mind, I'll help you out… You too, Harry. I'm sorry; it didn't even occur to me you might not know this stuff. Do they really not teach any core classes at Hogwarts?"

"Thanks," Harry said. "Not really. We have English and Writing once a week, but I haven't done any maths since primary school. And that maths definitely did not have letters in it."

"Lucky," Ella sulked.

They turned to walk toward the soundstage and Tim stepped up alongside them as they made their way down the hall.

"Dan!" he said, grinning. "Welcome back!"

"M-Tim," Harry said, correcting himself quickly. He hoped his voice sounded pleasant; like he was talking to someone whose company he had enjoyed for years and not to someone who he dearly wanted to curse into oblivion. "Thanks. Er – how's it going?"

"All good here," Tim said. His voice was warm and pleasant, and hearing it come out of Draco Malfoy's mouth was exceptionally disquieting. "I suppose you've already heard, but all we've been doing is schoolwork. I'm excited to get back to the creative stuff. Today should be excellent! Hope you're up for it." He turned to Ella, plastering a smile on his face. "Hey, Ella! Wanna get dinner Friday?"

"Bye, Tim," she said and she rolled her eyes and hurried off ahead of them. Tim looked only slightly disappointed.

"Next time then!" he called after her. "See you in there, mates." He drifted away toward his dressing room.

"What was that about?" Harry asked.

"She's not a huge fan of Tim," Robert said, amused.

"Why not? He seems an awful lot nicer than the alternative," Harry said, thinking of Malfoy.

"He's nice," Robert shrugged. "But Ella thinks he's–"

"A player," Ella cut in, reappearing beside them. "He hooked up with Carly Yip. And Pari Patel. _And_ Izzy Richards. All since production started this year! Could he _be_ any more annoying? Pass."

"Ah," Harry said, trying to get the image of Malfoy and Cho Chang together out of his mind. _Being on set was certainly going to prove to be interesting…_

A little while later, Harry and Robert, now dressed in Gryffindor Quidditch attire, sat in front of mirrors in a bright room. Harry watched in wonder as a tall girl dressed in all black circled him, brushing powder onto his face. She paused in confusion when she got to his forehead.

"Did you already have your scar put on?"

"Uh… huh," Harry said.

"What? Who did it for you?"

"Er," Harry said, "It was – er – I got a tattoo."

Robert burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry, you did _what_?" she cried. "Carlos is going to have a fit!"

"Don't worry, Marlene," Robert said, when he had regained control of his voice, "It's temporary. I did it for him."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't even want to know. Whatever, it looks pretty good. I'll just leave it." She walked back towards her make-up kit, shaking her head.

When Harry and Robert stepped out onto the set, Robert was still chortling.

"I _can't_ believe you said that," he choked as they made their way towards Ella.

"What else could I say?" Harry said reasonably. "It's not like she would've believed I drew it on with a pen..."

"What happened?" Ella asked, putting down her comic book and looking at them curiously. Robert told her. She started giggling uncontrollably. This made Robert laugh harder.

"OK, OK, I got it," Harry said. "I should've covered it up." But his concession fell on deaf ears, so he stepped away from them and the racket of their laughter to look around the set.

The setup was astonishing. The space was large and open, and freezing cold. He saw camera rigs everywhere he looked. Large lights were hanging from a grid on the ceiling. Portions of the space were sectioned off and enclosed with large green backdrops. One corner was entirely blue. He saw robotic setups around the room. There were several brooms attached to metal arms near the colorful backgrounds. The place was teeming with people; they were walking back and forth throughout the space, adjusting equipment, and congregating around large monitors with complex data displayed on the screens. He stared around, suddenly feeling exceedingly lost. Robert and Ella had prepared him for this as best as they could, but he still felt so incredibly out of place that he wondered if going up against Voldemort again might actually be an easier challenge.

"Don't worry, it's going to be fine," Robert said, and Harry saw that he had stepped up alongside him, his face now semi-serious. "It's actually pretty fun."

Just then a tall man approached them. He was thin, with olive skin and dark hair that was just long enough that it was beginning to curl. He wore narrow glasses that were thinner and more rectangular than Harry's, and his face was lit up in a huge smile.

"Daniyel!" he said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "I'm so glad you're back! How are you feeling? Back to 100%, I hope?"

"Hi, Carlos," Harry said, flashing back to Robert's binder as he recalled the man's face. "I'm great. Glad to be back."

"Excellent. Absolutely excellent. We've gone over every inch of the set while you were gone, of course. Everything is in tip-top shape. The only way a light will fall down now is if you shoot it down yourself." He gave a short, booming laugh.

"I'll make sure not to throw any Bludgers at it then," Robert said seriously.

"Ah, Robert," Carlos laughed again. "Already in character. Excellent. Now we need you on the trampoline. If you can just head over there? Great. OK, and Daniyel, let's get you on the Firebolt for the Quidditch match, if you're ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Harry said nervously.

"Excellent," Carlos said again, not noticing his tone. "Come on then."

Harry followed Carlos toward a large section of green. He glanced back at Ella as he walked away and she grinned at him, mouthed "good luck," and hid behind her comic book once again.

Harry climbed onto the mechanical broomstick and tried to find a comfortable way to sit. It felt nothing like his Firebolt, but he grabbed on and adjusted his feet as best he could. As he sat there, surrounded by blank green walls on three sides, bright lights flared up around him. He squinted, trying to see past them. The lights generated an incredible amount of heat as they beamed down at him and within minutes he was feeling toasty despite the freezing cold air. A powerful fan was turned on, sweeping Harry's robes dramatically behind him and blowing his hair back from his face.

"We're going to get a few takes of you circling the pitch first, keeping an eye out for the Snitch," Carlos said. "After that, we'll do the Bludger dodge, and then the dive. Sounds good?"

"Sure, great," Harry said, adjusting his hands tightly on the broom handle.

The camera started rolling, and Carlos called, "Action!"

The broom jerked sharply and Harry nearly slid off, caught off guard despite his expectations.

"Cut!" Carlos called, and the broom jerked to a stop. "Everything OK, Daniyel?"

"Fine, sorry!" Harry said, his face turning red.

"OK no worries, let's reset and go again."

The broomstick evened out and dropped back into starting position. As Harry squinted past the lights, he could see a young woman dressed in all black adjusting the controls that brought the broom to life. He shifted his hands again, mentally preparing himself for the motion, and when the camera rolled for the second take, he managed to hold on.

He fell into the memory of his last Quidditch match, of soaring around the pitch with the wind in his hair, as he tried to set his face into the best searching-for-the-Snitch expression that he had. He squinted around, the bright lights in his eyes, trying to imagine that they were teammates, or opponents, or spectators in the stands. The broom moved up and down on a pre-programmed path and he held on, swerving, dipping, and rising with it, trying to put intent into the motions – even though the whole experience reminded him of when his Nimbus Two Thousand had almost thrown him off after he lost control.

It went on for hours. After soaring, they moved on to diving and dodging Bludgers, as Carlos had promised, and then to catching the Snitch. By the time they broke for lunch and Harry gratefully slid off the broom, he was covered in sweat, and in more pain than from Wood's five-hour training sessions. He hobbled over to the back of the soundstage, where the caterers had set up several steaming platters, and found Ella and Robert loading up on salad and baked chicken.

"How did it go?" Robert asked.

"It was interesting," Harry panted. He grabbed a bottle of water and chugged the whole thing in one gulp. "I can't imagine how me sitting on that thing in that green box is going to look like Quidditch," he added quietly.

"Oh you'll see," Ella said. "It's really very cool. I know you said you don't want to read the books, but Rob and I can show you some Quidditch scenes from the earlier films, if you're interested."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Can you imagine," Ella said quietly, as they walked toward an empty corner of the soundstage with their plates, "what the fans would do if they found out it was _actually_ Harry Potter on the broom?"

"Oh, they would lose it," Robert said.

"They'd _definitely_ lose it," she agreed.

"I wish people would stop finding my life so interesting," Harry said. Ella and Robert burst out laughing again. "And I'm pretty sure I'm a lot better at actual Quidditch."

Ella and Robert looked at each other wistfully.

"Real Quidditch, Ella, can you imagine?" Robert said.

"Please, they barely even let me ride the fake broomstick," she said, rolling her eyes. "I wish."

Harry grinned. And as he rubbed his sore muscles, he found that he wished for it too.

* * *

Daniyel swerved in and out of the goal posts as he flew over the Quidditch pitch. It was the first match of the year: Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff.

Twenty minutes of playing time had passed without much incident. Gryffindor was leading by sixty points. Ron had defended all but two goals. The Snitch hadn't been spotted yet. Daniyel swooped high above the field, keeping an eye out for the glint of gold. He could not, by any means, claim to be performing at Harry's standards. But if he didn't catch the Snitch, well… he didn't want to be responsible for Harry's first failure on the Quidditch pitch.

"Katie Bell has the Quaffle," Lee Jordan called, as Daniyel made another careful turn by the Gryffindor goal posts. "Passing to Alicia Spinnet. Back to Bell. Will this be Gryffindor's ninth goal?" Daniyel streaked past Ron, the wind blowing back his hair, as the stadium exploded in cheers and boos. Katie had scored.

"Nice!" Ron called, pumping a fist in the air. Daniyel grinned, but kept both hands firmly on the Firebolt. No point in tempting fate. He flew towards the opposite side of the pitch, shooting past the Hufflepuff seeker, Jack Summerby, who was flying in the other direction. He felt like he was finally starting to get the hang of flying. It was an amazing feeling.

As he turned again, he felt a rush of adrenaline in the pit of his stomach _. The Snitch._ It was level with him, about a third of the field away. Summerby was still on the opposite side of the pitch and Daniyel was sure he hadn't seen it yet. He started making his way back towards the center of the pitch, keeping his pace as casual as possible. He didn't think he could outfly Summerby, but he was an actor, after all. All he had to do was keep a good poker face, or more accurately: a _poker fly_. If he was careful, Summerby need never know he had seen the Snitch at all. It wasn't the most exciting way to catch it, and Harry probably would have darted straight for it, but Daniyel would be perfectly content with simply catching it at all. He was twenty feet away when it darted suddenly upward.

"Crap!" he cried, and shot up after it. It was so close. _He couldn't lose it._

"Look's like Harry Potter's seen the Snitch!" Lee Jordan shouted in excitement. "Potter is giving chase. Jack Summerby's close behind. This is the first game of the season, and it's been too long since we've seen a spectacular Potter Snitch capture! Of course, Potter's been keeping up with his flying skills last year; dodging dragons and spurts of flame, so a slow moving Snitch should be no problem for him."

Daniyel shot up after the golden ball, trying to block out Lee's voice, which was saddling him with the weight of unfulfilled expectations.

"Summerby's a newbie on the Hufflepuff team," Lee Jordan informed the crowd. "For a first timer on the pitch, he's doing surprisingly well. But of course, we all doubt he's going to give Potter a run for his galleons. Speaking of galleons, has anyone else got a wager on the match, because I bet–"

"JORDAN!" Professor McGonagall called angrily. "There is no gambling allowed at Hogwarts!"

"Right you are, Professor! Looks like Summerby's catching up to Potter. Uh oh, here come Megan Jones and George Weasley, fighting for control of a Bludger. They're closing in on Potter and Summerby!"

Daniyel was inches from the Snitch. Summerby was only a foot or so behind him. He was level with the golden ball. With a rush of excitement, he reached out to grab it.

And suddenly, with a resounding crash, his broom pitched forward, and Daniyel was flung headfirst into empty air.

He heard the roar of a hundred screams, George Weasley's hurried curse, and Summerby's surprised gasp all at once before all sound was cut off as suddenly as if someone had flipped a switch and muted the volume. For a second he was suspended in slow motion, in silence, twirling through the air, and he saw the Snitch in front of him. He began to fall as he gained momentum. He wasn't sure why he didn't feel afraid, but all he was aware of was the golden ball before him. He reached out, his motions painfully slow, and closed his fingers around it. He felt the cold metal of the ball press into his hand, and with it, a feeling of accomplishment. And relief. _He had it._ It was a win for Gryffindor. He had done it; had kept up Harry's record.

And just as suddenly, the moment was over, and the wind screamed in his ears as he tumbled down to the pitch.

He grasped wildly for the Firebolt with his other hand and just managed to grab the tip of it with his fingers, but he was going down too fast and didn't have the arm strength to maintain his hold. His hand slipped off with a painful burn and he was freefalling once again.

"Harry!" George cried, racing toward him, his voice oddly distorted. "Hang on!"

Daniyel saw George flying toward him out of the corner of his eye, with Fred close behind, and the Hufflepuff Beater – Megan Jones – chasing after them, but they were all very far away, and the ground was getting closer by the second. He reached out wildly with his hands, trying to grab anything that might be useful, when he suddenly felt pain explode out from his chest as something hit him hard below his right shoulder. On pure instinct, he squeezed both arms around it. He slowed down considerably and now seemed to be drifting toward the ground at a less breakneck pace. His ears started working properly again and he began to make out individual phrases from the crowd. Lee Jordan was beside himself.

"After a Bludger throws him off his broom, Harry Potter catches the freaking Snitch and _then_ breaks his fall with the same freaking Bludger! Gallopin' Gorgons! Now _that's_ what they call badass, ladies and gentlemen! Holy–!"

Professor McGonagall was ignoring Lee and his foul mouth, and attempting to aim her wand in Daniyel's direction. He saw her relax visibly as he slowed down in his descent.

He glanced down nervously and confirmed that his lifeline was, indeed, a Bludger. He fought the impulse to release it as it continued to drift lower to the ground, his weight dragging it down. It was straining against him, however, and as he neared the ground, it began to gain momentum despite his weight and started to rise back up. He glanced down at the ground and judged that he was about eight feet up. For lack of a better idea, Daniyel gritted his teeth and let go of the Bludger.

He tried to keep his knees bent, but when his feet hit the ground the force of the impact exploded painfully through his legs either way and knocked him over sideways. He covered his head with his hands as he fell, like they had taught him on set during stunt training. He lay on the ground as the adrenaline wore off, and pain started to throb in every region of his body. He focused on the fluttering wings of the Snitch as they beat weakly against his palm and tried to block it out.

There were loud thuds on the ground and a moment later the Gryffindor team had surrounded him.

"Harry!" Angelina cried, dropping down beside him. "Are you OK?!" He barely heard her over the din of the crowd.

"I'm great," he ground out through gritted teeth. He pushed himself to a sitting position and held out the Snitch, grinning widely despite the burning pain all over his body.

"Bloody brilliant!" Ron yelled, clapping him on the back. Daniyel winced. "Whoops, sorry, mate!"

"Harry," Fred said, grinning at him. "Very impressive. One of your best captures for sure."

"But this thing where you keep falling off your broom," George added. "Stop doing it."

"Definitely agree!" Angelina said seriously, but she was grinning widely.

Just then Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall pushed their way through the circle surrounding him.

"Potter!" Professor McGonagall said anxiously. "Are you all right? Off to the hospital wing. Come along now. You can all celebrate later."

And as he hobbled after Professor McGonagall for yet another visit to the hospital wing – with the Gryffindor team around him like a retainer, and screams of approval still ringing in his years – Daniyel couldn't help but smile.

For the first time since he had gotten here, he actually felt like he belonged at Hogwarts on his own merit.

 


	11. Muggle Studies

**Chapter Eleven:**

_Muggle Studies_

.

"Brilliant!" Harry said, grinning at Ron's and Daniyel's faces as they hovered in the dome above the projector. "Good job!"

"It really was, Harry," Ron said enthusiastically. "He snatched the Snitch right out of the air, as he was tumbling past it! Cool as you please. And when he grabbed the Bludger on the way down… Blimey, I thought he was done for! Really, bloody brilliant!"

Daniyel grinned sheepishly. "It was honestly kind of an accident. I'm not sure how it even happened. I was sure I was going to break my face."

"But you didn't!" Ron added.

"No, I fractured my shoulder though."

"Sounds painful," Harry said, wincing sympathetically.

"All good," Daniyel said, shrugging. "Madam Pomfrey fixed it in minutes. So how are things over there?"

"Pretty good," Harry said, adjusting the pillow he was leaning on. He launched into a recap of his own Quidditch adventures. "It's really something, how it's all put together," he added, when he was finished. "Rob and Ella showed me the Quidditch scenes from the first two films. I can't believe they got all that out of that hovering broomstick. I still prefer real Quidditch, though."

"Me too," Daniyel admitted.

"Also, I may have messed up your calculus test," Harry added. "But your teacher is letting me take it again tomorrow, and Rob's been giving me lessons all week."

"Oh fun, I don't miss that," Daniyel said, amused. "Good luck with that."

"What the bloody hell is calculus?" Ron cut in. "Sounds like a disease."

"I think it's like Arithmancy," Harry said in a hushed tone. "Bloody complicated."

"Is it?" Ron asked, glancing at Daniyel.

"Er… maybe?" he said, shrugging. Six books, and he still had no idea what the bloody hell Arithmancy actually was.

"So," Harry said, now that the pleasantries were out of the way, "has there been any news about Voldemort? What's he doing?"

Ron flinched and shook his head. "Nothing since Halloween. Ever since Fudge went public and announced his return, he's been quiet. No word or sightings of any of the other escaped Death Eaters either. Sirius reckons he's re-strategizing; wasn't expecting the Ministry policy shift."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Good."

Daniyel nodded seriously. "I definitely want to learn as much as I can before…" He trailed off, leaving word of the confrontation they'd both have to face in the future unspoken. "Anyway, Professor Lupin's been teaching us all some very useful spells in Defense class," he added. "And he wants to start teaching me privately."

"I'm going to join," Ron added. "Hermione too."

"That's great, I'm glad you're learning from Lupin," Harry said, relieved. "He's a really good teacher. Where _is_ Hermione, anyway?"

"Library," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Researching something for Professor Vector. We're actually supposed to be doing Divination homework right now. Mirror gazing. In the moonlight." He rolled his eyes again.

"So you'll be making it up, then?" Harry said, his face breaking into a grin.

"It's the Gryffindor way," Ron said, shrugging.

"Don't let Hermione hear you say that," Harry said, amused. "All right, I'll let you get back to that. I'm not sure what mirror gazing is about, but just tell her you see a dark faceless stranger or something."

"With a long scraggly beard," Ron said seriously.

"And a big angry dog. She'll love that."

Ron smiled. "We miss you, mate."

"You too."

Harry raised his hand in a halfhearted wave and broke the connection with the projector disc. The blue dome flickered and disappeared. He dropped the disc on the bed beside him and sat up, looking around Daniyel's room in the semi-darkness of the evening. Scripts and calculus notes were spread out across the whole surface of the desk. He sighed and contemplated picking them up again, but he didn't think his mind could absorb another morsel of information. It had been a long week, and tomorrow was the start of another one that promised to be just as exhausting. He collapsed back onto the bed and pulled the covers up to his chin as he stretched out one hand to the bedside table. His fingers found the slender holly wand and he pointed it at Daniyel's desk lamp and whispered, " _Nox._ "

Darkness settled around him like a thick blanket.

* * *

It was with a tremendous amount of relief that Harry scribbled the answer to the final equation (If y=1/(5x-3) then what is y^2) and put down his pencil. He glanced at the clock (which read 8:45PM) and then looked over at Ella. She was scribbling intently on her paper, her face locked in concentration. Harry assumed she was not drawing another floral scene. Probably.

He looked over his completed test, feeling relatively confident that while it was not a work of genius, he had managed something at least acceptable. He leaned back and closed his eyes until he heard Ella stop scribbling; then they walked up to Mrs. Stevens together.

"Very good," she said, putting down the thick novel she had been reading and glancing over the tests briefly. "Ella, this looks a lot better. See, you can certainly do the work if you apply yourself."

Ella scowled while barely suppressing a yawn. "I hardly have time to apply myself," she said honestly. It was not a sarcastic comment and Harry, who was utterly exhausted, had to agree.

Mrs. Stevens smiled sympathetically. "I know you've got a lot on your plates. But education is important too; don't discount it. No one ever regrets getting an education. And you may want to go to college someday."

"I suppose," Ella said grudgingly. "But not for calculus, I promise you. Good night, Mrs. Stevens."

Mrs. Stevens waved them off, and they walked down the empty hallway together. Production had wrapped for the night, and the set was dark and deserted.

"Wanna grab a bite and share a cab home?" Ella asked.

"Yeah, let's do it," Harry said in agreement. They had a 6:00AM call time the following morning, but it had been a long day and he was famished.

"Excellent. Let's go to my and Dan's favorite place."

"What's that?" Harry asked, following her down the hall.

"Burger King," she said brightly.

"Really?" He grinned. "All right, I haven't had a hamburger since Hagrid took me to Diagon Alley."

"You're kidding!"

"Hamburgers aren't really part of the Hogwarts nutritional menu," Harry explained.

"Dan must be so disappointed." She giggled and ducked into her dressing room. "In here!"

"Er – why in here?"

"We'll need these," she said, and pulled out two baseball caps and two messy bundles that Harry took for mops, but quickly realized were wigs. He stared at her, nonplussed.

"So we won't be recognized, of course," she expounded when he didn't move.

"Is that… a problem?"

"Probably not, but we've all gotten into the habit of doing it when we go out in public. So we can get some time to ourselves without any fans seeing us. The movies are really popular."

"I guess I understand that problem," Harry admitted. "But you don't need that. Here." He pulled out his wand and pointed it at her before she could object. " _Crinus Muto_." Her dark brown hair shortened and became lighter, until a short strawberry blonde pixie cut framed her face. " _Oculis Muto_." Her vast round eyes turned a pale blue-gray and the shape narrowed slightly.

She glanced into the mirror and grinned, her eyes shining in wonder. "Wow, awesome! Do something else! Let's see the magic."

Twenty minutes later, Harry and Ella stepped inconspicuously into a mostly deserted Burger King, sporting their new looks, and ordered several hamburgers, fries, chocolate cakes, and milkshakes off the menu. The settled down into an empty corner with their feast spread out before them and dug in enthusiastically.

"This Hershey Pie," Harry said, pushing his long ponytail out of the way as he spoke, "may be the best thing I've ever tasted."

"Told you," she said, grinning. "Dan and I've been obsessed with it since we were ten. We've had a habit of going to Burger King at least once a month or so since then and totally pigging out. It's our guilty pleasure."

Harry contemplated her words as he let the piece of pie dissolve in his mouth (it really was wonderful). He found Ella to be a fascinating mish-mash of familiarity. With an amused aloofness for schoolwork married perfectly to a drive to succeed in her acting career, along with a positive hoard of facts about obscure fictional characters, a huge love of food, and the open and lighthearted way she embraced the world – as if life was constantly letting her in on a private joke – it was almost like being around both Ron and Hermione at once. Watching her stuff a fry into her mouth, her blissful expression a perfect imitation of Ron finally sinking his teeth into a delicious meal after a day spent "starving" on the Hogwarts Express, filled Harry with an intense sense of nostalgia and contentment both at once. He smiled wistfully.

"What'sa matter?" Ella asked, noticing his expression. And then, before he could answer, she swallowed her mouthful of fried potato and added, "You miss them, don't you? Hogwarts? Your friends? Sirius?"

"Yeah," he admitted, nodding his assent. He took another forkful of cake. "But I like being here too. You and Rob are great. And this cake."

"That, is _such_ a relief," she said, her face stoic. "Knowing you're liked is always appreciated. I _am_ an actress after all, so as you know, I live on praise and adoration. And chocolate cake, of course." She burst out laughing, unable to keep her face straight any longer. "Sorry, was that too much?"

"No, it was perfect," Harry said, letting out a short laugh.

"Honestly," she said, her tone turning serious, "this whole thing is so odd, isn't it? I still can't believe it's real sometimes. I mean... I look at you, and sometimes I still think Dan's going to appear from behind your eyes and say, 'Just kidding! It was me this whole time! Isn't it brilliant?' And I miss him, too. Dan. A lot."

"I know." Harry looked down at the remains of his cake. It suddenly seemed a lot less appetizing. "I'm sorry. I can't help but think this is all my fault."

"Oh, come on, Harry," she said, "of course it isn't! Look, Dan's not here, and you are... and Voldemort is there, and I _know_ that sucks. You feel helpless."

He bit his lip and nodded silently before glancing back up at Ella, who was contemplating him, seemingly trying to decide if she should say whatever it was that was on her mind. He waited.

"I don't know if this helps," she said finally, "but I've always believed that things happen for a reason. And I don't know... if that's true. Maybe that's only something you can believe in if nothing truly terrible has ever happened to you. Maybe you can't believe in something like that, Harry, after everything you've been through. But I do know how hard it was for you, when Voldemort came back. And maybe... maybe this is the break you need. You know… a chance at the normal life you wanted. Kind of normal, at any rate."

"That's…" Harry said, trailing off. He thought about it. Was he actually allowed to have a break? It was disconcerting. "It's a little something out of a storybook to put Voldemort on the shelf for a while and pretend my biggest problem is a maths test," he said slowly. "And I'd be lying to myself if I didn't admit that it being as busy as it's been is a relief. But what kind of reason could there be for leaving Daniyel at Voldemort's mercy? Even if I forget where _I_ am, I can't forget _that_ for a moment."

"Well," Ella said, contemplating this, "that's true, of course. But it sounds like the majority of what Dan's been doing is going to class and playing Quidditch. Obviously Voldemort's there, and it's not all fun and games. But to be honest, sometimes I wasn't really sure if what Dan wanted more than anything was to be an actor, or to be, well, _you_ , Harry. The good and the bad."

"So you reckon I should just sit back and let him have a go at… everything? Until Voldemort comes out of hiding?"

"Honestly," she said, "yeah. You'd give anything to go back, wouldn't you? It's not all bad. Plus, there's nothing else you can do right now. But of course, we'll all be worried either way, won't we? Sitting on the sidelines is the worst."

And Harry had to admit that this was true.

Later that evening, as a cab dropped off Harry and Ella, sans magical disguises, at their respective houses, Harry was still thinking about Ella's words. It was true that being here had, in a way, proved to be exactly what he needed so far: a diversion from his real life and a path that was becoming progressively darker year by year. He was starting to suspect that his fate would be tied to that of Voldemort for the rest of his life. Voldemort would never stop chasing him down. And could _he_ step away, even if he wanted to?

As he let himself into the dark and silent house (Daniyel's parents were already asleep) and scratched Binka behind the ears as she greeted him energetically, he thought about all the people who had been killed as they strayed into Voldemort's path. He thought about his parents. Cedric. As he kicked off his shoes and stumbled tiredly up the stairs, he wondered if he would actually ever be free to walk away, as long as Voldemort was alive and seeking him; hurting the people he cared about.

He sagged onto the bed fully clothed, without the energy to get back up. Binka, who had followed him into the room, jumped up beside him and curled into a warm ball at his feet. He lay there in the darkness until sleep enveloped him, thoughts of Voldemort still heavy on his mind.

* * *

_It was dark. Stars shone brightly overhead and filtered down through the bare branches of the tall trees that surrounded him. It was a sparse forest, and a light coating of snow lay upon the ground, casting a white glow over everything. It was icy cold. The frigid air bit into his uncovered arms. It penetrated through his thin t-shirt, chilling him to the bone and sending shivers down his spine._

_He spun around, wrapping his arms tightly around himself for a modicum of warmth. The forest was empty – a cold, dark void. He stumbled through the trees, his bare feet sinking into icy snow, each step burning like fire._

_Suddenly, the silent night erupted in flashes of light and shouts. A small procession of hooded figures appeared behind him. He stumbled, slipping behind a tree to stay out of sight._

_The procession made its way towards him, wands held aloft. They were shrouded in darkness, but he could just make out the silhouette of a tall, hooded figure at the lead. He felt a painful twinge in his scar as they drew nearer and he shrank back against the tree, pressing against it until the rough bark dug painfully into his back. They were level with him now, and he knew he did not want to see what was underneath that hood. He did not want them to come any closer. His hand shook despite his best efforts to keep still as he searched for a wand he did not have, while his heart pounded sharply in his throat._

_He heard it then. A soft moan of pain. A stifled sob. He peered carefully around the tree and saw the outline of a limp figure being dragged along the ground in their wake._

_Just then, the tall figure at the front spun around abruptly, its hood falling back, and Harry saw the pale face and fiery red eyes of Voldemort glowing in the darkness. A fear such as he had never experienced before seized him and he froze in place, his breathing ragged. His scar exploded with pain._

_His surroundings darkened until all he could see were those cold, glowing eyes, boring into him. And then they too, were gone._

* * *

Harry shot up in bed, breathing heavily. His body was covered in icy sweat, and he was freezing cold. His scar was throbbing painfully across his forehead. He stared about wildly, seeing the familiar trappings of Daniyel's room around him. Binka whined softly and stretched her paws out across his feet, eyeing him quizzically.

The pain in his scar diminished slightly, and his thoughts cleared up enough to think logically. Voldemort had been in a forest. He had had a hostage. Harry had not seen whom, and he could not imagine where. But Voldemort had locked eyes with him at the end. Had Voldemort sensed his presence? Or had it just been a nightmare? Somehow, he didn't think so. He'd had enough of a foray into these kinds of dreams to know the difference.

He pulled the blanket around him tightly, his body still shaking as if he had truly wandered through an icy winter forest, and raised his fingers to his scar. He could feel the heat radiating from it still, leaving him with a dull pounding headache.

He relaxed back into the bed, letting Binka crawl up on his chest, her warm weight a reassuring pressure. He reached for the projector disc, rolling it in his palm as he contemplated his course of action.

The logical thing to do would be to tell Sirius and Dumbledore about this dream. It could be important. But it was two in the morning, and Dumbledore and Sirius would both be sound asleep.

It could wait, Harry decided, until the morning. He would tell them first thing. In the meantime, he had about three more hours of sleep he could try and salvage before he had to report back to set, and he knew he would be better off if he at least made the attempt.

It proved to be a mostly futile effort, however, and he lay awake until the early hours of the morning, trying to get the afterimage of Voldemort's eyes out of his mind, before he finally fell into a troubled sleep just before the sun began to rise.

* * *

"You look terrible," Ella said sympathetically as he made his way to the craft table the following morning, reaching straight for the large jug of coffee. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I couldn't sleep," Harry said. He didn't have the energy to go into the details of his dream and certainly didn't feel like discussing it in the middle of the breakfast rush. He took a large gulp of coffee and yawned as he reached for the plate of pastries and grabbed a chocolate croissant. Sugar. He needed sugar.

"I barely got any sleep myself," she said, echoing his yawn. "We got home so late. I hope we don't have to do any more makeup tests. It's just too much to do it on top of our regular schedule."

"How did you do?" Robert asked, drifting over to them with a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs.

"OK, I reckon," Harry said. He yawned again. It was going to be a long day.

They headed over to the dressing rooms, and then to makeup, where Marlene expertly covered up the dark circles under Harry's eyes without commenting on them. He drifted through the day as though in a haze, and it was nearly mid-afternoon by the time he was able to get away long enough to call Sirius.

"So Voldemort had a hostage," Sirius said thoughtfully, "but you don't know who, or where?"

"In a forest somewhere," Harry clarified. "There was snow on the ground."

"And you didn't recognize the forest at all?"

Harry shook his head. The wintry scene had looked eerie and altogether unfamiliar. Sirius contemplated this.

"Well, I'll definitely inform Dumbledore," he said finally. "No one we know is missing, if that's what you're worried about. Thanks for telling us about this." His tone softened. "How are you doing, Harry? You sound tired."

"I'm fine," Harry said, relief coloring his voice, "don't worry about me. Just look out for Dan, all right? And Ron and Hermione."

"We are," Sirius said reassuringly.

As he stuffed the flat disc into his pocket and made his way back towards the soundstage, Harry realized that he had been so intent on telling Sirius the details of his dream that he had never got around to mentioning the pain still lingering in his scar.


	12. Thunder and Ice

**Chapter Twelve:**

_Thunder and Ice_

.

Snow fell softly on the Hogwarts grounds and encased the castle as winter crept upon them. The days became colder and shorter, and ice spread in intricate patterns across the glass of every window. Before Daniyel knew it, it was very nearly Christmas.

He approached the holiday with mixed feelings. Christmas at Hogwarts was wonderful - a childhood fantasy. But as he walked around the castle, with its twelve customary Christmas trees set up around the Great Hall, and further decorations spilling out into the rest of the school, for the first time he felt a little homesick. Never mind that back home it would be nearly August. Being logical was not an adequate solution for being emotional.

In fact, it could be said that the timing did not help in the least, for he had done the calculations earlier, and the day after Christmas would be July 31st back home – the birthday he shared with Harry. All things considered, Daniyel found himself in a rather odd mood as the holidays approached, torn between which holiday he should actually celebrate, and whether, in the winter of 1995, he would really be, in fact, sixteen.

On the Sunday before Christmas, Daniyel woke up early and wandered over to the window, where he gazed out over the snowy grounds through the frosted glass as the sun was just beginning to rise. Ron, who had remained at Hogwarts while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley performed undisclosed tasks for the Order, was still sound asleep, and the dormitory was otherwise empty. The Hogwarts Express had taken everyone who was leaving back to London the previous day, and a calm quiet had fallen across the castle.

Not wanting to wake Ron, Daniyel dressed quietly and left the dormitory. The common room was empty as well, and he didn't feel like heading down to breakfast yet. He headed towards the Owlery with thoughts of visiting Hedwig. He had been making regular trips to visit Harry's owl over the past few weeks, and Hedwig was slowly starting to take a liking to him. As he bundled his cloak tighter and climbed the steps to the Owlery, he wondered what she made of him. Did she make any comparisons between Harry and him based on his physical appearance, or did she recognize Harry by some other avian sense alone?

The first time Ron and Hermione had brought Daniyel to visit Hedwig, she had taken one look at him, let out a solitary desolate hoot, and flown up high into the rafters, where she had turned her back to them and refused to come down. Daniyel had watched her dejectedly, keenly aware that the owl very much knew that he was not Harry and, seemingly, that Harry would not be coming anytime soon.

It had taken several subsequent trips before she had been willing to come down and meet him, and several more still before she had acquiesced to sit on his arm. These days when he came to visit Hedwig, usually with one of Harry's owl treats stuffed in his hand, she would fly down to sit on his shoulder, hoot a soft greeting, and then lay her head briefly across his chest, as if listening to his heartbeat. Sometimes he wondered if that was how she recognized Harry: by the unique pattern of his heart.

He stepped into the Owlery, looking around for her distinct white coat, but she wasn't there. In truth, he had already suspected that would be the case when he had stepped inside the room and she hadn't flown down to greet him.

Taking his disappointment in stride, Daniyel walked over to the open window. An icy wind broke against his face as he stuck his head out and looked down. The sun was up now, and the grounds were beautiful and peaceful in the early morning light. He stood there for a little while, until the cold had numbed his cheeks, before he heard footsteps behind him followed by a surprised exclamation of, "Harry! What are you doing?"

He turned around and saw Ginny Weasley standing in the doorway, eyeing him curiously.

"You're going to freeze, you know," she said.

"Good morning to you too," he said. "I was just looking for Hedwig."

"Was she looking back?" Ginny said brightly. She walked further into the Owlery, holding a small package in her hands.

"I've forgotten to send Mum her Christmas present," she added. "Do you think Pig can carry this?"

"Probably," Daniyel said. "He's small, but mighty. Give it a go. I'm sure Ron won't mind."

"Hah, if Ron minds, I'll give him something real to mind about," Ginny said, letting out an amused breath through her nose. Daniyel laughed.

"Maybe _you're_ small but mighty," he reasoned.

"I am, indeed," she said brightly. "Have you seen my Bat-Bogey Hex? I used it on Malfoy last week when he tried to bully a first year Puff. Some Prefect." She rolled her eyes.

"No, but I r-heard all about how wicked it is," Daniyel said, biting the word _read_ off his tongue. Ginny seemed appeased.

"Michael was rather cross about it," she added, rolling her eyes again. "I may have to dump him. What do you say, Harry?"

"Er," Daniyel said.

"Only joking," she grinned. "Don't answer that. You're as bad as Ron."

"Hey!" Daniyel said, his tone one of mock offense.

She grinned again and turned to Pig. With deft practiced movements she began to attach the package to the small owl's leg. Daniyel watched curiously. She was the girl Harry was meant to end up with, he was quite certain, and Harry was so far entirely unaware of it – unless he had raided his bookshelf, of course. But Hermione had also said their storylines were diverging, and considering everything that had happened, he was inclined to agree. So all in all, he didn't know exactly how Harry and Ginny would play out, but perhaps he could somehow help them along and build a more solid foundation of a friendship with her. It was only what Harry himself would have done, had he been here. Yes, Daniyel decided, he could do this, for Harry. It was Christmas after all. And Harry was spending his Christmas in July. When he came back–

"What's up, Harry?"

He realized he had been staring into space for several minutes, lost in thought. He refocused on Ginny, and saw that she was eyeing him curiously, Pigwidgeon still sitting in her hands.

"Sorry," he said. She was still looking at him, her expression encouraging him to continue. He decided on the truth – or a bit of it, anyway. "Christmas can just be a little lonely sometimes."

Her eyes widened in understanding. "You miss your family, don't you? Your parents?"

"Just a bit," Daniyel said truthfully. As he said it, he realized he was wading into dubious territory. The implications of Harry and his family were much deeper and more complex than anything he had meant to bring up as a topic of discussion. It was so easy, sometimes, to forget where to draw the line that separated Harry from the life he was living.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," she said softly. "You've never complained, but it must be so hard on you, not being able to see them. I know it's not the same, but you have us. And Sirius. And Professor Lupin…"

"Of course, you're right," Daniyel said, backtracking. He was definitely out of his depth now. Perhaps Ginny was right, and he _was_ just as bad as Ron. He smiled reassuringly. "Sorry, Ginny, you caught me at an odd moment. I'm truly grateful to have all of you."

"No worries," she said when he didn't continue. "I don't imagine Ron is much help for serious conversation, though you know, Hermione is a great listener. Not that you can't vent to me, of course."

"This is all true," Daniyel agreed as Ginny walked to the open window, kissed Pigwidgeon on the head briefly, and flung him out into the open air. They watched him sink down several feet before righting himself and flapping off into the early morning sun.

"Anyway, Harry," Ginny added, as she walked back towards the Owlery door. "I was going to head down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Feel free to join me."

He did, and they were perched at the Gryffindor table, dumping disproportionate amounts of jam into their porridge when Ron and Hermione found them.

"You're up early, Harry," Hermione said, sliding in opposite him, beside Ginny. She looked between the two of them curiously as Ron dropped down on the bench next to Daniyel.

"I found him in the Owlery," Ginny supplied. "Thought I'd help him find the Great Hall. He seemed a little lost. By the way, Ron, I borrowed Pig."

"No problem," Ron said, dragging a platter of bacon toward him and transferring half of it generously to his plate. "Last minute present for Michael?" He scowled, reaching for the fried potatoes.

"No-o," Ginny said, drawing out the word. "For Mum."

"Oh. I'm not sure how he's going to find her though," Ron said, stuffing a piece of potato into his mouth. "I mean she's–"

Hermione gave him a sharp look and he managed to drown out the rest of his sentence by swallowing his mouthful of potato and subsequently choking on it. Ginny rolled her eyes and didn't look remotely surprised.

"…with Bill," Ron finished weakly, after he finally got his food down the proper channels. He took a large swig of pumpkin juice.

"I'm sure Pig will find her just fine," Ginny said.

Hermione gave Ron a half-exasperated glance and then pushed her plate aside to make room for a long scroll of parchment. They watched in bewilderment as she unrolled it, took out her quill, and started scribbling away halfway down the page, glancing up occasionally to take a sip of her tea.

"Er, Hermione," Ron said carefully, pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth, "are you _doing homework_? On the second day of break?"

"No," she said vaguely, her eyes scanning the top half of the parchment.

Ron looked at Daniyel, who shrugged. Ginny glanced over at the parchment.

"…Muggle alternatives to magical advancements," she read aloud. "As the daughter of two Muggles who pursued the healing profession as dentists, I have a unique perspective–"

Hermione tugged the parchment out of her line of sight.

"What in the world are you writing?" Ron said, chortling. "An expose on Muggles for the Daily Prophet? Your autobiography?"

Hermione sighed. "If you must know, I've been to speak with McGonagall, and she said I can sit the Muggle Studies O.W.L. even though I've dropped the class. I just need to write a foot on Muggle developments of the twentieth century by start of term to qualify."

"Are you _mental_?" Ron said. "We're up to our necks in it already, and you're volunteering for another exam?"

"It seems a waste not to get the qualification when I know the material," Hermione said, shrugging. "I may want to work with Muggles in future. Who knows." She took a bite of her croissant and disappeared back into her essay. Ron raised his eyebrows at Daniyel and Ginny, who both shook their heads and grinned in amusement.

"Speaking of presents," Ginny said brightly, "have you lot got yours all sorted out?"

"I suppose," Daniyel said, flashing to his meager collection upstairs. It had been a bit of a struggle to find suitable gifts for everyone, but he hoped he hadn't done too badly.

"Ah yes," Ron said, "that." He turned to Hermione again. "Hermione, fancy anything for Christmas?"

"Constructive criticism on my essay, I suppose," she said absently.

"What?" Ron sputtered. "You want me to… read _that_?" He looked horrified.

Hermione glanced up with a rather pitying expression. "Oh goodness, no," she said. "Not _you_." She looked down again, entirely focused on her work.

Daniyel and Ginny burst out laughing.

"What's so funny, you lot?"

They turned and spotted the Weasley twins walking towards them through the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables.

"It's a beautiful first holiday weekend," Fred said, grinning. "Fancy a snowball fight?"

They slid onto the bench beside Ron, helping themselves to breakfast.

"We should really take advantage of this time to study for our O.W.L.s," Hermione said seriously, glancing up from her parchment again and taking a sip of her tea.

"Oh come on, Hermione," George said brightly. "You've got all break to study. Spend some time with us."

Hermione sighed again and rolled up her parchment. To their surprise, she didn't need nearly as much convincing as they might have expected, and an hour later, the six of them were out on the grounds, vigorously flinging snow at each other. Hermione seemed to find particular pleasure in it, and soon her frizzy hair had absorbed half its volume in sticky wet snow as she flung ball after ball of the tightly packed powder with an impressive amount of force.

They took a quick break for lunch before resuming their outdoor activities, and several hours later still, they lay on their backs in the muddled snow, breathing heavily.

"Impressive throwing arm, Hermione," Fred commented.

"I didn't join you last year," she said, shrugging. "Just making up for it. Before I came to Hogwarts, I used to obliterate all the other kids on my street." She grinned. Ron ogled her with some surprise.

"Blimey," he said weakly. "Remind me to never get on your bad side."

They got up and started trooping back to the castle as dusk began to settle around them when Daniyel saw a flash of white out of the corner of his eye. He whirled around and saw a white shape flying in the direction of Hagrid's cabin.

"Hang on," he said, "there's Hedwig! I'll meet you in the common room."

He headed towards the owl before they could respond, pleased that he was going to see her after all.

"Harry!" Hermione called after him.

"Don't worry, I'll be right back," he called over his shoulder as he made his way towards Hagrid's cabin, where smoke was rising invitingly from the chimney. The windows seemed to glow in the gathering darkness.

Hermione looked worried, but Ron said, "It's fine, Hermione, Hagrid's right there," and nudged her in the direction of the castle. The five of them traipsed inside, shaking snow off their boots as they made their way into the Entrance Hall, Hermione still glancing back occasionally while donning her worried face.

Daniyel trudged through the snow, keeping an eye out for the owl. She was perched in front of Hagrid's door, but when she spotted him, she rose up into the air and flew toward the forest.

"Hedwig!" he called, but she didn't turn back. She alighted on a snow-covered branch at the edge of the wood and looked at him with her large amber eyes, her head tilted slightly to the side, as if inviting him to follow.

Daniyel paused, curiosity warring with common sense. He knew he shouldn't go into the Forbidden Forest, especially in the middle of winter when it was getting colder by the minute and full dark was only a short while away – e _specially_ in the current political climate. But Hedwig had never asked him to follow her before, and he was beyond curious about what she wanted to show him. So against his better judgement, Daniyel trudged past Hagrid's front door and crossed the threshold into the woods.

Hedwig rose into the air before he reached her and drifted into the shadow of the trees.

"Wait!" Daniyel called after her. "Hedwig! Where are you going?"

Dimness fell around him as he stepped further into the cover of the forest. It was late afternoon now, and the light was fading fast. As he made his way further into the trees, he felt the snow as it started to drift down gently into his hair and onto the back of his neck.

He took several more steps then paused, taking stock of his surroundings. The trees were closing in on all sides now, shrouding him in darkness. The temperature had dropped steadily as he walked, and he felt the cold weight of his clothes as they clung to him, still damp from the snowball fight. He turned a full circle and looked for Hedwig, but she was nowhere in sight.

There was an indistinguishable animal shriek from somewhere up ahead, and Daniyel's hand closed tightly around his wand. A bead of sweat slid slowly along the nape of his neck, freezing on its way down. Maybe, he reasoned, following Hedwig into the Forbidden Forest had not been the best idea.

He looked around again for the snowy owl but didn't see her anywhere. He was abruptly struck with the panicked thought that he hadn't actually seen her at all, and had wandered into the dark forest for no discernable reason. He was on the verge of turning around and going back when he saw a flash of white through a gap in the trees. He paused, then walked slowly toward it, as if it were a magnet pulling him forward.

She was hovering in the center of a clearing, beating her wings slightly to stay at eye level. He stepped inside the clearing carefully, keeping his wand in front of him.

"There you are," he said, relief seeping into his voice. He held out an arm in her direction, inviting her to a perch. "What is it? Is there something here?"

She cocked her head to the side again and blinked at him. The color of her eyes seemed to shift, and a soft white glow appeared around the edges of her being. Then, in a sudden gust of wind that caused him to throw his hands in front of his face, she transformed. As he watched in shock, she grew to ten times her size in a matter of seconds. Her beak elongated and her claws became massive. He counted three extra sets of wings that sprouted from her back as she grew to the size of a small dragon. She flapped her massive wings, bringing forth a violent gale that pushed him back to the tree line, flinging snow, small branches, and rocks at his face.

He stumbled backwards and fell, staring up at the monster that Hedwig had become in frozen shock. Was this some new plan by Voldemort to take him? He looked around wildly but didn't see anyone else. He raised him wand, trying to hold it steady in the howling twister that continued to bear down on him.

" _Stupefy!"_

The spell shot straight at Monster Hedwig, and had absolutely no effect whatsoever. It might as well have gone right through her. Daniyel cursed.

Monster Hedwig let out a loud screech that washed over his ears with such intensity that he threw his hands to his ears in pain, nearly dropping his wand. He stumbled back to his feet, holding on to a tree for support as small debris continued to pelt at him. A chunk of ice hit his cheek, hard, leaving a painful welt in its wake. He tried to mentally run through the list of spells he knew that could be effective while berating himself for getting into this situation.

" _Confrigo!"_ he yelled. Monster Hedwig screeched in indignation and avoided the curse. It hit a tree behind her, which exploded in a ball of fire. Monster Hedwig then flapped her massive wings once in a circular motion, and a gust of wind dragged him violently forward – into the center of the clearing towards her. Daniyel did his best to stay on his feet. Once he was away from the cover of the trees, she lunged at him like a bullet.

" _Protego!_ " he screamed, raising his arms instinctively to shield his face. He put everything he had into the Shield Charm: the fatigue from the freezing cold that overwhelmed him, every single hurt he felt, his desire to come out of this alive. He thought of all the people who were depending on him, and where they would be if he met his end here in this forest, alone. If he never walked out to meet Voldemort. If he never paved the way for Harry. _If he never went back home._

His wand vibrated forcefully in his hand as he thought of the people he loved, and he felt an icy surge of energy course through him, pulsing outwards from his wand. It burst forth in a torrent, and suddenly ice shot out in all directions around him and he found himself in the middle of a frozen icescape.

The wind was suddenly gone, the abrupt silence absolute. He lowered his hands slowly, gazing around in astonishment. The ground and trees around him were covered in ice. The remnants and debris of the storm that the monstrous bird had created were frozen in midair and glinting like icicles, as if the icy energy had frozen them in time. As his eyes came to land on Monster Hedwig, he saw that she herself was frozen in an aerial drive, feet away from him. As he stared at her in wonder, her frozen form burst into a thousand glittering lights, and they spread out and then reformed into the same bird, on a much smaller scale. She was the size of Hedwig again, but with four sets of wings, a curved beak, and powerful talons. She glowed brightly in the darkness, even against the glint of the ice.

As he watched in frozen shock, she glided towards him, and he found that he was not afraid. She brushed one wing gently against his cheek and then flapped once and alighted weightlessly upon his wand, disappearing as soon she touched the wood, which burned hot to receive her. He looked down and saw that the black bands around his wand stood out sharply in contrast to the pale wood.

Daniyel lowered his wand and stood still, looking around and wondering what the hell had just happened. He was shaking, and he wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the adrenaline. As he tried to make sense of the fight, and the bird, and the strange icy power that he could not explain, the ice around him vanished, and the debris that had been frozen in the air around him fell suddenly to the ground. He leapt backwards to get out of the way.

When it was over, his surroundings looked simply like a snowy clearing in a forest, in the dusk of Christmas Eve. Aside from the charred branches of the tree he had hit, there was no sign of a disturbance. An unbroken coating of snow lay upon the ground, disrupted only by his footprints. The fight looked like it had never been. He turned in a slow circle, staring around in tense bewilderment.

"That was rather impressive, Mr. Bluelake," said a soft voice behind him.

He whirled around to see Dumbledore standing among the trees. Fawkes was sitting on his shoulder, glowing faintly in the night.

"Professor!" he gasped. "Did you see… what happened?"

"Your battle with the guardian of your wand, you mean?" Dumbledore said calmly. "The thunderbird? Yes. It was… quite fascinating."

"The guardian of my wand?" Daniyel said slowly. He looked down at the pale wand, which still felt warm in his hand. Dumbledore nodded.

"I believe she was just trying to show you how to find the power within your wand. And within yourself. The ice spell you performed – it is impressive. And will surely be useful when you face Voldemort. We shall teach you how to control it."

"I don't understand," Daniyel said. He realized he was freezing. His teeth started to chatter and he folded his arms tightly against his chest.

Dumbledore raised a hand and Fawkes gracefully took flight. He alighted on Daniyel's shoulder, who felt a warmth spread through him from the warm weight of the phoenix. Within seconds, the cold was forgotten.

"Come along," Dumbledore said, turning back towards the castle. "I'll explain everything."


	13. The Forests Between

**Chapter Thirteen:**

_The Forests Between_

.

_He was flying through the forest, the tall trees streaming past him. Snow lay upon the ground. It was cold. It was dark. It was familiar._

_As he looked down at the snowy landscape, he saw a trajectory carved out upon the ground - a long unbroken line. He followed it, as if he were being pulled along a preordained path._

_As he sped forward, he reached a break in the trees and the forest opened up to reveal the wall of a towering stone fortress. Its sharp edges stood out in contrast to the night, marked by an emptiness._

_From within the deep shadows at the foot of the fortress, he heard a scream pierce the night._

_He swooped over the fortress then, until he was above an uncovered courtyard. The center of it was sheathed in darkness. He was propelled, suddenly, down into it, and the darkness surrounded him. And with the darkness came pain. It was everywhere. It was in his arms and legs. It was in his chest. It was in his scar._

* * *

Harry jolted abruptly awake, the pain radiating from his scar so intense that he clutched his hands to his face, as if hoping to push it out by sheer force. It had been the fifth time in the last two months that he had seen the forest. And every time he saw it, the images were darker. Clearer. The psychic residue more painful.

He took deep steadying breaths, trying to get the pain under control. His scar throbbed with every motion of his head.

He had seen nothing new. His dream had provided no information that he could relay to Sirius and Dumbledore. But as he sagged back down onto the bed, he knew it would be hours yet before the cold void of the fortress would dissipate from his mind.

Pale and exhausted, he lay awake until the early morning hours, when the warm rays of the rising sun crept slowly but surely into the room, and the darkness finally vanished.

* * *

Daniyel sat in Dumbledore's office, cradling a warm mug of hot chocolate while Dumbledore observed him from across his desk.

"I'm not really sure what you mean by guardian," he said slowly. "Are you saying that the thunderbird whose feather makes up my wand core was trying to teach me magic?"

"That does indeed appear to be the case," Dumbledore agreed. "Granted, she had a unique way of conversing."

" _Conversing?!_ " Daniyel said, letting his breath out in a huff. "It – she outright attacked me!"

"She did," Dumbledore conceded. "But she would not have harmed you."

"That's debatable," Daniyel said, brushing a hand against his cheek. The welt from the ice that had hit him was still there, but he did find that it felt significantly smaller and less painful.

"That will fade," Dumbledore said. "Unless, of course, you'd like to visit the hospital wing?"

"No thanks, I'll pass," Daniyel said quickly. He had seen enough of the hospital wing to last him all of Hogwarts. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in amusement, which Daniyel found incredibly irritating.

"Very well," Dumbledore said, his expression turning serious, "to business. Ollivander contacted me after you left his shop and explained to me the nature of the wand that chose you. Birch wood, with a thunderbird tail feather – a most powerful wand. And a most unusual one."

"I know, he told me all of this," Daniyel said wearily. "A wand of winter, with a powerful core. He didn't seem too fond of giving it to me, honestly."

Dumbledore nodded. "A winter wand, indeed. The birch wood comprises the very essence of winter. But it is the magic of the thunderbird that powers it – allows it to take form. And yet, that very same wood contains the storm of the thunderbird and prevents it from bursting forth. It is a most delicate balance. The scales tip back and forth constantly, with both sources of energy fighting for control. And at the very center of this battle, there is you."

"Me? You're saying I'm keeping this wand from… what? Exploding?"

"Nothing quite so dramatic," Dumbledore said, allowing a smile to grace his features. "The wand chose you, Mr. Bluelake, and it came alive with the energy of your strength, and your will. It feeds off your magic, just as you draw upon it to power and focus your own incantations.

"This is why you were able to call forth the _Glacies Tempestas_ – the ice spell you so aptly used. Your wand is powerful. And now that the winter solstice, which brings the full force of winter, is almost upon us, the thunderbird within it was able to manifest and show you the way. Though her method was rather unconventional. She initially took the form of Harry's owl, Hedwig, because she is familiar to you, in order to gain your trust."

"But I don't even know what I did," Daniyel said slowly. "Or how I did it. I don't know how to do it again."

"You have the ability now," Dumbledore said, "even if you don't recall the motions. Professor Lupin will work with you to call forth the memory, so that you can bring the ice under your control. I believe this will be instrumental in the battle with Voldemort. A card to play, if you use it wisely.

"I will speak to Professor Lupin," he continued, standing up and walking around the desk, which Daniyel took to mean he was dismissed. "If all goes well, you will be able to start working on this during the holiday break. In the meantime, do try to stay out of trouble."

His eyes twinkled again as he stopped by the office door. Daniyel stood up, still cradling his mug. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore."

"You are most welcome," Dumbledore said kindly. "Now if you will excuse me, I have an appointment with Professor Snape."

Daniyel felt his blood turn cold at the mention of the man. He stood still, his hands clenching tightly around the mug. Dumbledore looked at him inquiringly.

"Professor," Daniyel said, his voice measured as he tried to ignore his inner struggle. He knew his words would be out of line, but he didn't feel he could contain them any longer. "Are you sure... are you _sure_ that you can trust Professor Snape?" He blurted out the question before he lost his nerve.

Dumbledore looked at him for several moments, his expression unreadable. Daniyel felt a bead of sweat appear on his brow as he quailed under the intensity of Dumbledore's gaze. But diverging storylines and orders to be quiet be damned, he did not want to be responsible for not preventing the disaster that had unfolded in the pages of _Half-Blood Prince_. Not after the two months he had spent walking within these halls.

"Daniyel," Dumbledore said finally, and Daniyel registered the use of his first name and was unsure what it meant, "are you aware of how this story ends?"

"No," Daniyel admitted, after a rather lengthy pause. "I don't know, Professor."

Dumbledore smiled then, his features slightly forlorn.

"Neither do I. But let us find out together."

* * *

"I still can't believe you fought off a thunderbird," Ron said, as they made their way towards the Forbidden Forest, where Professor Lupin was waiting for them.

"It wasn't a real thunderbird, though," Daniyel clarified.

"But, Daniyel, you really shouldn't have run off into the forest on your own like that," Hermione chided, as she melted the snow in their path. "It was really very dangerous."

"I know," he said. "But Dumbledore seemed pleased about it."

She pursed her lips, as if she was starting to lose faith in her unwavering support for all the things that Dumbledore was constantly pleased about, but refrained from commenting further.

Professor Lupin was waiting for them at the edge of the forest, his wand held loosely in his hand.

"There you are," he said, as they approached. "Excellent. Ah, Ron, Hermione, I see you came along. This is more of a practical lesson for Daniyel, but you're welcome to stay and observe. And to practice some of the spells we've learned previously, if you would like."

Ron looked disappointed but nodded in agreement, and the three of them followed Lupin into the woods.

They walked into the forest until they reached a small, unfamiliar clearing. Lupin stopped and turned to face them. "This will do."

Ron and Hermione drifted off to the side as Daniyel reached for his wand. He squeezed it tightly. The wood felt slightly warm in his frozen fingers.

"The _Glacies Tempestas_ ," Lupin said softly, "is a powerful spell of the mind. I have not seen it used personally, but I am familiar with the theory. Very few wizards have cast it successfully – or at least this is the case according to written record.

"It is a very versatile spell, and when used properly, it can take on many forms. The _Glacies_ can be as hard and cruel as the ice of the coldest winter, or as delicate and gentle as the softest snowfall.

"To use it, you will need to find a way to connect with the flow of energy within your wand, and when you are one with it, and your will is focused strongly enough on your purpose, you will be able to bring forth the ice or any of its variations. The words itself are not important, but they do help to shape it."

"I tried to use the Shield Charm last time, when it happened," Daniyel said.

Lupin nodded. "The ice acted as a shield, because that is what you needed at the time. Are you ready to try it?"

"I guess so."

Lupin gestured in invitation and stepped back. Ron and Hermione looked on in interest.

Daniyel closed his eyes, trying to feel the magic of his wand. He tried his best to remember the strange pulsing and the surge of icy energy that had coursed through him just two days past. He thought he could feel the slow but steady trickle of energy between wand and hand, if he focused hard enough. His hand tingled with it.

" _Glacies_!" he cried.

He opened his eyes, but the clearing was unchanged; Ron looked disappointed, Hermione merely curious. Daniyel glanced at Professor Lupin, who shook his head.

"It's all right," he said. "Even though you've done it once before, it would still have been astounding if you managed it again on the first attempt. The circumstances are completely different. So try again, and don't get discouraged."

Daniyel nodded silently and closed his eyes again. He tried to imagine that the wood of his wand was an extension of his hand. He imagined that there was no barrier between them. He thought of ice, and winter, and the strength of the thunderbird within.

He raised his wand with deliberation and spoke the spell again, but the result was much the same. His third attempt didn't yield anything either, and the efforts of his fourth, fifth, and sixth attempts were also unsuccessful.

Countless tries later, he managed to stir the snow at his feet, and it rose up and glittered momentarily before settling back down and disappearing into the snowy ground.

"Very good!" Lupin said. "Did you do anything different there?"

"Not really," Daniyel said wearily. "I just keep trying to imagine the wand is connected to me. That we're sharing energy."

"All right," Lupin said. "Why don't we take a break."

Daniyel lowered his wand in relief and glanced over at Ron and Hermione, who were having a full-blown practice duel under the cover of the trees.

" _Alarte Ascendare_!" Hermione cried, aiming at Ron, who was lifted off his feet and flung upwards into the crown of the nearest tree. Daniyel watched in shocked fascination as Ron grabbed hold of, and swung around, a branch on the way up, as if he were a gymnast grabbing hold of the high bar. He used the momentum to fling himself towards Hermione, who drew back in surprise, forced to throw a Cushioning Charm between them.

Ron rebounded from the invisible cushion and was back on his feet, wand drawn, almost before Hermione had time to draw breath.

" _Petrificus–"_ he hollered triumphantly, but Hermione was too fast for him. She jabbed her wand at Ron and cried, " _Everte Statum_!" and Ron was blasted backwards before he could complete his spell; the rest of his incantation getting lost in a surprised gasp. Doubling down, she shot a Stunner at him as he was still hurtling through the air.

Ron, however, responded with quicker reflexes than Daniyel would have thought possible, and yelled, " _Protego_!" The Shield Charm served the dual purpose of cushioning his fall and deflecting Hermione's Stunner, which shot wildly past her and slammed into a nearby tree.

There was a loud crack and, without warning, a tree branch broke off and tumbled down towards Hermione in a flurry of white powder, gaining speed as it drew closer to the bushy-haired witch.

Daniyel reacted on pure instinct. As fear for Hermione coursed through him, he extended his wand sharply, and felt the flow of energy he had been searching for all day pour into him like a flood. In a rush of magic, ice mixed with wind and snow exploded from his wand before Hermione had time to do so much as cry out in surprise. The icy storm blew through the clearing in a powerful gust, knocking the falling branch off course and burying them all in white powder.

Ron, Hermione, and Lupin shielded their faces, bracing against the wind as the storm blew past them. Daniyel stood at its center, feeling alive as the icy wind blew outward. His cloak flapped fiercely around him. It was gone in moments, and he sagged to the ground in weariness as the clearing fell into sudden silence.

"Ron, Hermione, are you both all right?" Lupin called, clambering to his feet and brushing aside the snow that had nearly buried him.

"I'm OK," Hermione gasped, emerging from a tall pile of snow. Ron also appeared, staring around in wonder.

"Blimey," he breathed.

They converged on Daniyel, and Lupin crouched beside him.

"I did it," Daniyel mumbled, panting. Lupin smiled.

"Yes, you did. Well done. Are you all right?"

Daniyel nodded, still breathing heavily. The spell, and the hours of failed attempts, had taken everything out of him.

"That's enough for today," Lupin said. "We'll pick this up again later in the week. This is a really great start, Daniyel. I think we have a clearer sense now of how you can access the energy needed for the spell. Once you can cast it consistently, we'll focus on shaping and controlling it. And on maintaining its effects."

"Sounds good," Daniyel said wearily, and allowed Lupin to pull him to his feet. They made their slow way back to the castle together.

"That was bloody brilliant," Ron said, walking alongside Daniyel. "You called up a whole storm."

"You're one to talk," Daniyel mumbled, glancing at both Ron and Hermione. "Your duel was next level."

"Good," Hermione said evenly. "We want to be ready for anything. Harry can't do everything alone. And neither can you."

"You're right," Daniyel said. "Harry definitely needs your help. And I haven't got anything on you two."

"You're quite impressive, actually," Hermione said, while Ron nodded in agreement at her side. "The magic you can do is incredibly powerful."

"I'm not really doing it though," Daniyel said. "It's just my wand. It's just extra strong." He doubted he could really take credit for the whole. He was hardly Harry, after all, with a path of destiny laid out before him. He was just stumbling through the motions, desperately trying to not mess up everything as he went.

Lupin, who had been walking ahead in silence, glanced back at them at these words.

"That's not quite accurate, Daniyel," he said. "The wand is powerful, that's true, but the magic is inside you. That wand chose you for a reason. If anyone else picked it up, they would not be able cast this spell, or possibly even use it at all. And while it augments your power, the one casting this spell is you."

He smiled kindly at Daniyel and then turned back towards the castle, and Daniyel was left to avoid Ron and Hermione's curious glances and wonder what in the world else he had to discover within himself.

In the end, he reflected, unearthing hidden magical talents was not the worst way to spend a birthday and, considering where he was, it was not even particularly unusual.


	14. Into the Dark

**Chapter Fourteen:**

_Into the Dark_

.

It was August, and the heat was unbearable. Harry wiped his brow, and then quickly flattened his hair to his face to hide his scar. It stuck. He sighed in frustration and glanced over at Ella and Robert, who were trailing along behind him.

Production was wrapping shortly for a three-week break, and the studio, taking advantage of the downtime, had sent its three young stars out into the local community on a public relations mission. Thus, on a hot and sunny Saturday in August, the three of them could be found in the small park next to an animal shelter in West London.

Harry, who was holding on to a medium-sized brown dog with floppy ears, was in the lead. Robert walked a step behind him, holding the leash of a large, fluffy dog in various shades of browns and greys. And several paces behind them was Ella, who had insisted on taking not one, but two small dogs, which were now yapping loudly while running around her in circles, tangling their leashes around her legs.

"Wait!" she called over their excited barks. "Wait one second!"

Harry and Robert stopped and their canine charges paused in their exploration of the great outdoors to glance back curiously. Ella managed to untangle the leashes and ran to catch up to them, the two small dogs hurrying after her.

"These dogs are crazy!" she panted, wiping sweat off her face. "They won't calm down!"

"This may be a shocking revelation," Robert said, keeping his voice level despite his amused tone, "but it _was_ possible to take just one."

"But they're both so cute, how could I pick just one? Good thing I didn't take the third one though, I suppose."

"They wouldn't let you take the third one," Robert said reasonably. Harry laughed.

Ella ignored him. "Did you know," she said, turning to Harry, "that walks help socialize dogs, and that socialized dogs have more chances of being adopted? We're not just giving them a few fun minutes – we're hopefully making a lasting difference in their lives." She turned back to Robert. "So, there, Rob, you could have taken two, too."

"I did know this," Harry confirmed. "But what's loads more interesting is that you sound as if you've swallowed the volunteer guidebook, which is the kind of behavior I expect only from Hermione."

He smiled wistfully as he thought of his friend, back at Hogwarts with Ron. She looked just like the girl before him, but she couldn't be more different – except possibly in this moment.

"I happen to be passionate about rescuing animals!" Ella said unapologetically, giving them both a glare that was only slightly ruined by her amused smile. Then she ran off, the two smalls dogs – Harry thought they might be Shih Tzus, or Yorkies, or some mix in between – chasing after her.

As Harry and Robert looked on, the dogs ran around her legs again and nearly tripped her. When this happened, the group of onlookers, who had been observing them from behind a metal barricade several feet away, with their cameras and cell phones raised in front of their faces, all started shooting enthusiastically.

"Ella," Robert said, reaching down to pat the fluffy dog still sitting patiently beside him as he tried not to laugh, as if the one word summed up everything.

"I think it's endearing," Harry said, grinning.

They walked back to the Clover Animal Centre, where they returned the dogs to their kennels (Ella barely containing her disappointment), and proceeded to the cat room, where Robert immediately disappeared into a pile full of kittens and did not re-emerge for at least an hour.

"I reckon you were lecturing the wrong guy," Harry reasoned, watching Robert play with the small cats, while he scratched his own large tabby behind the ears. The cat let out a satisfied purr and rubbed against his legs. The photographer the studio had sent over snapped a quick photo and Harry tried his best to ignore him, as he had been all day. "Rob is clearly very passionate about kittens."

"Rob does have a thing for cats," Ella confirmed as she dragged a string along the floor. "He's wanted one for ages, actually." Several cats jumped after her with unabashed enthusiasm, eliciting another sequence of exciting photo opportunities.

By the time they were done it was late afternoon, and they were starving. The Clover Animal Centre had laid out some sandwiches and they descended on them hungrily.

It had been a very productive day, Harry decided; a day where he had done some good, and that always helped when he was feeling useless. And useless was what he was feeling most of the time lately.

It had been six months since he had seen Voldemort come back to life. And in all the time since, he had faced Voldemort only once. Worse yet, as a result of that encounter, he had spent the last three months pretending at being himself, while Daniyel had been thrown into battle multiple times. Even now, when Daniyel was on the verge of mastering a new spell that could help take down Voldemort, all Harry could do was offer meager advice while constantly waking up from the same terrifying and useless nightmare that left his body weak and exhausted and his scar burning.

He stared down at his plate of food, not really seeing it, as he remembered his latest foray into the winter woodland of his nightmares. It had been just two nights past and, as always, the dream had left him unsettled, worried, and downright terrified. He had visited the forest no less than eight times now, and he could not deny that the dreams were becoming more frequent, just as they became more confusing. At the same time, he could hardly pretend that they didn't faze him – that they didn't keep him awake night after night. But was there really anyone to whom he could admit that he was afraid to sleep? That he was afraid to see the glowing red eyes of Voldemort when he closed his own? Some days he felt as if the only reason he made it through was because of the five cups of coffee that he had taken to drinking daily, and the heavy makeup that Marlene applied to the dark bags under his eyes, without ever saying a word.

"What's the matter?" Ella cut in, interrupting his thoughts. Harry glanced up to see both of them sitting on either side of him, holding sandwiches with a side of concern.

"Nothing, I'm fine – just tired."

He bit into his own sandwich (chicken salad with cranberries) and quickly re-arranged his expression into one of pleased satisfaction. Ella and Robert spent enough time worrying about him as it was, and he had already decided that they didn't need to know about the dreams – nightmares – whatever they were. It was something he would have to work out on his own.

"This was nice, today," he added, reaching for a bottle of iced tea.

"I absolutely love it when we do things like this!" Ella agreed, abandoning her previous inquiry. "This is even better than last year, when we went to plant the trees. Don't you think, Rob?"

She glanced over at Robert, who nodded silently. He was chewing his sandwich slowly, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "You're right, Ella," he said suddenly. He stood up abruptly and walked out of the room. Ella and Harry stared after him curiously.

Robert's intentions did not become clear until half an hour later, as they were getting ready to leave. As Harry and Ella collected their things, Robert reappeared in the room, holding on to a small orange-striped kitten. Harry recognized it from the kitten pile.

"Aww," Ella said, "you wanted to see the kitty again? I take it back – you have lots of feelings. But we're leaving now; the car's waiting outside, so put your new friend back..."

"Nope," Robert said, grinning. "This guy's coming home with me."

"What!" Ella cried, her face lighting up in a broad grin. "You're adopting him?!"

"Way to go, mate," Harry said, clapping Robert on the back.

They grabbed the rest of their things and exchanged final goodbyes and thank-yous with the staff of the Clover Animal Centre while the photographer hovered around them, snapping more photos. Then they turned toward the door and walked out into scorching heat of the afternoon, flanked by four bodyguards, who hurried them toward the waiting town car with what Harry thought was a wholly unnecessary amount of showmanship, while a crowd of fans behind more barricades waved and called their names excitedly. Ella broke rank from their tight line and wandered toward the barricade, where she managed to sign five books, three movie posters, and pose for at least two selfies before Oliver, the head of their security detail, stalked over to lead her away. He was, to Harry's immense amusement, unsuccessful, and before Harry quite knew how it had happened, he and Robert had joined Ella at the barrier, and Harry found several books, DVDs, posters, and photographs of Daniyel shoved at him rather aggressively by a sea of grinning people of various ages.

"Just go with it!" Ella whispered, grinning, as she signed her name to a photo of Daniyel, Ella, and Robert, dressed in Gryffindor robes and posing with Hogwarts castle behind them.

Harry grinned, grabbed a sharpie and a copy of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ that a small dark-haired girl, who was so short that she had to stand on tip-toe to see over the barricade, was holding out hopefully, and flipped it open to the title page.

He nearly shook his head in bemusement, fully aware that had he been back home, he would have escaped such a scene as quickly as humanly possible; however, Ella and Robert had spent hours instilling in him the importance of these moments, so he uncapped the sharpie and carefully scrawled _Daniyel Bluelake_ beneath the title in his best approximation at Daniyel's signature, which he had spent several evenings practicing. And then, because he wasn't entirely sure he had managed it perfectly, beneath that he added: _Harry Potter_ in his own hand, as if that would make up for faking the signature she had actually wanted. Which Ella assured him it absolutely did, when they finally got into the waiting town car.

"If they only knew…" she said, grinning impishly. "They would literally die, I think."

"I don't reckon Harry would want that," Robert said, letting out a laugh.

"He's right," Harry said, nodding.

"Oh calm down, you two," she said brightly. "Trust me, Harry, if they had any idea, they'd be even happier than if Dan had signed it himself."

"She's right, you know," Robert added. His new kitten let out a soft meow and he reached down to the pet carrier beside him and slowly opened the top flap. The kitten poked his head out and looked around curiously. Robert gently scooped him up and held him to his chest.

"If it makes them happy, that's all that's important," he added, gazing down at the cat, and Harry momentarily wondered if he was still talking about the signature.

He reflected that Robert, who was now smiling down at the small orange cat – which matched his hair magnificently – was what a real hero looked like: someone who was willing to stand up and do the right thing when he didn't have to, right there in the moment, and didn't leave his burdens for his friends to carry.

When Harry got back to the Bluelake household, Binka greeted him affectionately, sniffing him with unusually painstaking interest. He reckoned she was curious about all the animals he had interacted with earlier in the day.

He greeted Daniyel's parents, contributed half an hour or so to family time so that they didn't start to think that their son was turning into a recluse, and then excused himself to his bedroom. Binka padded after him, her nails clicking softly on the hardwood floors.

Harry closed the door behind him, took out his wand and aimed it at the pillows on the bed. " _Accio_ ," he said. A pillow flew toward him. Binka watched with interest. He caught it and dropped it on the floor and pointed his wand at it again. " _Depulso_." Binka jumped at the pillow right as it rose into the air to fly back onto the bed, and it took her along for the ride. Harry let out a short laugh.

He had taken to practicing spells whenever he had any free time. The more time he spent here, in this safe Muggle word, the more anxious he became that when the time came to go back – to face Voldemort – he would not remember the spells; or worse yet, he would not be able to channel his magic.

He had been left to his own devices here for so long that he had taken to wondering if magic perhaps regressed if it was left neglected. He was sure that Hermione would know the answer, but she was so far away at Hogwarts; they all were, and he didn't want to call just to ask such a stupid question. He could just imagine her response anyway, if he closed his eyes. "Of course magic doesn't disappear, Harry. It's a part of you." Yes, he was sure she would respond in kind. He didn't even really need her to, considering the words were his own. And yet… and yet, his whole situation was unprecedented. Every day, Hogwarts seemed more and more like a dream, and he couldn't help but worry.

So he had been practicing his magic, lest he forget it. But even so, there was only so much he could do alone, and he didn't see much use for Summoning or Banishing charms in battle. But it wasn't as if he could practice Stunners on Binka, so basics like moving pillows around his room and studying from the few books Sirius had sent him a couple months ago were basically the extent of what he could do.

"At least your trace isn't effective over there, according to Dumbledore," Sirius had told him, when he had passed over the textbooks, "so practice away!" He had also been grinning in a way that made Harry envision the many nights that Sirius had spent roaming the castle grounds with his father, stirring up trouble and planning their next adventure.

The thought had been enough to keep Harry in a good mood for days, and he imagined their adventures often as he had sat down to study the books, in the late hours of most evenings.

That evening, after dinner, he found that he was too exhausted to study, however. He had barely slept since the last iteration of his dream – the choice sometimes a conscious one, and sometimes not. But no matter what awaited him when he closed his eyes, his body could no longer hold out and he collapsed onto the bed in exhaustion, Binka at his side, and sleep overtook him instantly.

* * *

_As he ran through the cold winter forest, he knew that it was a dream, and yet he could not find a way to wake himself up. His strides fell into a familiar pattern. He knew just where to place each step, and though the iciness of the snow burned him, the pain was momentary. Fleeting._

_He stalked through the snow like a ghost, leaving no tracks behind him. The sky was alight with stars, the glow of distant suns so bright that he could find his way easily. It did not take much time to come upon the towering stone wall._

_He pushed forward, propelled by an invisible force, and for the first time, he found himself inside the fortress. He glided down its empty stone halls – dark passageways lit by flickering torches, with shadows threatening to overtake the small pinpricks of lights. Even the light the torches gave off was cold – the fire taking on an almost bluish tint. There was no warmth in this castle._

_As he forged ahead through the darkness, passing locked door after locked door and wondering why he came upon no one on his crossing, he abruptly found himself in the courtyard he had seen from above. The darkness that had enshrouded it was here too, and he plunged into it without pausing. The darkness bit into him like ice._

_He spun around, his eyes unseeing, only darkness around him, his body trembling in the sudden cold. He stepped forward – or was he stepping back? He was directionless, lost in the black._

_And then he heard it: the voice of the graveyard. The voice of his nightmares._

"… _bring the power of the mighty Slytherin upon this stone... and take it. Take it!"_

_The voice rose in a shriek that dissolved into a cold, cruel laugh, and light and wind flared up around Harry – the sudden brightness stabbing at him like a dagger; or maybe it was simply the pain in his scar. Voldemort's cruel laugh was lost in a maelstrom of noise, and Harry heard screaming all around him as pain pierced him everywhere, and his whole body seized up. He couldn't move. He could see only brightness and darkness, swimming together, and somewhere in the center of it stood Voldemort, his robes billowing about him in the gale, his arms raised to the sky._

_He realized abruptly that the screams were his own: his own pain playing loudly in his ears. He felt as if he were losing himself – that if he stayed there any longer, there would be nothing left. Red and green light began to flare around the edges of his vision. With a tremendous effort of will, he forced himself to turn away. He stumbled away from Voldemort, toward the edges of the darkness. It was like trying to wade through water – the darkness weighed him down and pulled him back, the lights like shackles around his arms. The icy cold seeped into his very bones. Each step was agony._

_He broke through the outer barrier of the dark abruptly and stumbled to his knees, thoughts of escape tangled in his mind. He glimpsed hooded figures all around him, dark shapes standing sentry in the night. And then he was falling, the pain overpowering him, the dream fading to black._

* * *

He opened his eyes abruptly in the familiar darkness of Daniyel's room, and for a second he couldn't move. He lay there, the dreamscape still imprinted before him; his eyes darting furiously around the room; his scar throbbing and his body frozen, and fear rose up in him like an uncoiling snake.

Sensation flooded back suddenly and the pain raked through him, pushing the vision of Voldemort from his mind. It was everywhere – every single part of him hurt, and the coldness lingered still, causing him to shiver violently. With some effort, he curled up on his side, suppressing a moan, and reached up to wipe the icy sweat from his face. When he drew back his fingers, they dripped dark in the moonlight.

Harry stared at his hand, a slight panic seizing him, and then he stumbled to his feet. His head spun, and he staggered into the wall before grabbing hold of it and using it as guide as he managed to make his way unsteadily into the bathroom. He bumped the light switch with his elbow, and the bright lights stabbed into his eyeballs, blinding him momentarily. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting them flicker back open slowly, until his pale face came into focus in the mirror.

"Bloody hell," he muttered as he stared at his reflection.

His scar was bright red, and there was a thin trickle of blood trailing from it down the bridge of his nose. The right side of his forehead was smudged red, where he had wiped it. It wasn't as bad as he had initially imagined, when he saw the blood glistening upon his fingers, but the sight was incredibly unnerving.

With shaking hands, he turned on the tap and cleaned his face with a wet paper towel. When he was done, he pressed a new towel firmly to his scar, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. He slid down slowly to the floor and leaned his head back against the bathroom wall, tilting his face up toward the ceiling. The lights were still too bright, so he closed his eyes.

As he sat there, sick and shaking, with his scar bleeding slowly beneath his hand, he realized that now was the time to call Sirius. He had been avoiding the conversation for much too long as his dreams had gotten progressively more overwhelming. He realized now, as he sat upon the cold tile floor, that perhaps he had waited too long. This, whatever this was, was really happening, and he was not prepared to deal with it. He realized, his mind oddly calm and clear, that he knew no spells that would be of use in this predicament. He wasn't sure what to do, if his scar didn't stop bleeding. He thought of calling Sirius now, of asking for help – surely Dumbledore would know what to do in this situation – but it was the middle of the night, and he didn't know if Sirius would answer. It was still worth chancing, but the projector was back on his bedside table, and he didn't have the energy to get back up just then.

He stayed there, the pain slowly fading from his limbs, trying to pull together the details of his dream. But it was no use; the memories were a confused jumble of darkness interspersed with light. A fragment of memory of Voldemort's figure in the darkness. A cold, cruel laugh. He racked his tired brain further until it brought forth a fragment of speech: "… _the power of the mighty Slytherin…"_ There had been more – he was sure of it, but he couldn't remember the rest. Another throb of pain shot through his scar and he abandoned his efforts.

He was so tired. He wanted nothing more than to lay down his head and sleep, but cold fear kept him from stumbling to his feet and walking back into the bedroom, where Daniyel's dog waited, her brown eyes locked on him as she stood vigil in the doorway.

Harry opened his eyes, glancing at Binka, who whined softly. He noticed, as he looked around, that an indescribable weakness had fallen over him, and that his vision was darkening at the corners in a way should have concerned him, but he was in a state somewhere past concern. He wondered, in an offhand way, if perhaps Voldemort had found a way to do him in in his dreams; had inflicted a grave injury on him that transcended all the worlds between, and the protective wall of his sleeping mind, and if this, perhaps, was the end. The irony, he thought, as he gazed into Binka's eyes. Was this where his story ended? Would Binka be the last thing that he saw within this world… and when the darkness overcame him, would he be plunged into a dream, or a nightmare?

He badly didn't want that to be his truth, so he grabbed on to the vanity and struggled to his feet. He would at least make the effort to call Sirius; he would not give in to this. But as he tried to stand, his scar gave another agonizing throb, his head spun again, and he lost his grip on reality.

The next time he opened his eyes, he could have sworn that Hermione was standing over him, her bushy hair hanging down wildly over her anxious face, wand clenched tightly in hand.


	15. Hogwarts, A History

**Chapter Fifteen:**

_Hogwarts, A History_

.

When Ella abruptly awoke in the early hours of Sunday morning, it was with a nostalgically familiar feeling of disquiet. It was a feeling she had experienced many times in the past – most often when she had been younger, and the experiences that that followed it stood out quite sharply in her mind.

She remembered her first encounter with this sensation very vividly. She had been a little girl, no more than five years old, when she had sensed the sudden tightening in her abdomen; the flash of panic spreading across her small chest, and the sudden, unexplainable, but crystal-clear knowledge that somewhere, behind the swing set and the giant yellow slide that still terrified her, her friend was in terrible trouble.

She had darted away from Allison and Marigold, and the tea party they had been laying out in the shadow of a large sycamore tree, and took off toward the swings as fast as her little legs could carry her. She had edged around the slide, trying to avoid contact with the huge yellow beast (and not think about the dark gap at its center through which the other children often vanished, only to reappear on the ground shortly afterward, as if being swallowed whole), and then the swings had come into view, and a sad sight met her eyes.

Daniyel, or Danny as she had called him back then, was crouching on the ground, crying, with his arms raised protectively over his head. Three slightly older boys had been circling him like vultures, taunting him. Even as she stepped closer, one boy threw a rock at his back. She heard the _thwack_ as it struck Danny, and he let out a cry of pain.

She had seethed with anger then; working up all of her thirty-eight pounds into a furious rage such as she had never felt before. She had picked a small stick up off the ground and ran towards the boys, screaming loudly. She had hit the closest one with the stick as hard as she could, which in retrospect wasn't very hard, and had kept hitting him repeatedly; and shockingly, the boys, who appeared unprepared to deal with a deranged five-year-old girl who was intent on attacking them, had backed away and melted into the surroundings.

Ella, still shocked at what she had just done, dropped the stick and ran to Danny, who was gaping up at her.

"Ellie!" he had cried, his voice cracking in surprise.

"Danny!"

She had dropped down beside Danny and thrown her little arms around him, and then she had started to cry. He did too, and that was how the teachers found them: her a sobbing mess, and him sniffling, with a big black bruise on his cheek.

Since then, she had experienced this feeling several times over the years: a few times more when Daniyel had been further pursued by bullies, in the time before he had started kickboxing, and Harry Potter had made them both famous; once when her baby sister, Eliza, had managed to trap herself in the washer – she had managed to pry open the door just in time; once when Robert had taken to practicing on the Quidditch trampoline by himself and had fallen off and nearly broken his arm; and most recently, when Daniyel had been nearly crushed by the falling light. Struck by her premonition, her eyes had darted up to the light just as it began to fall. It had all happened so fast; she'd only had time to yell a second's warning. But it had been enough, for Daniyel to jump aside. Of course then the switch had happened, and she had not felt the feeling since. Until now.

Over the years, her premonitions had appeared fewer and further between, each subsequent time the gap between warning and danger smaller, until Ella had started to wonder if it was rather like a childhood talent that one grew out of – like that uncanny flexibility she had once enjoyed. She had accepted this with disappointed grace and had carried on as usual, telling no one but Daniyel of her hidden talent.

And yet, in the early hours of that morning, she had been jolted abruptly awake, the feeling of disquiet as strong as ever. She gazed briefly around her room; at the pile of yesterday's clothes, lying on the floor in strips of moonlight; at the clock reading _3:07 AM_ in digital green letters; and finally at the window, with the great oak tree leaning up against it, as the anxious pressure mounted in her chest and stomach.

Without a clear idea of where she was headed, she shoved back the covers, snatched up her sneakers, and slipped out her window and down the oak, the feel of the old branches familiar against her palms. She dropped softly to the ground and took off running, her feet pounding silently on the grass as they followed the familiar path to Daniyel's house.

She found herself outside Harry's window before she quite knew how she had gotten there, her nerves tingling with the intensity of the premonition. Without pausing to consider the oddness of her actions, she grabbed on to the trellis outside the house and climbed up, catlike, as she had done a hundred times before. The window slid open easily at her touch, and she slipped silently into the room, looking around in the near darkness.

It struck her as ominous that Harry wasn't in the bed, but as she glanced around, she saw the warm glow of the bathroom light shining through the gap in the door. She took a cautious step toward it, her nerves completely on edge.

"Harry?" she called softly.

Almost before she finished speaking, Binka squeezed through the gap in the bathroom door and rushed toward her. She stood up on her hind legs and placed her front paws on Ella's legs, and then dropped back down and whined softly, scampering back towards the bathroom. She paused, looking back at Ella hopefully – her meaning couldn't have been clearer.

Her heart thudding loudly in her ears, Ella steeled herself and walked briskly towards the bathroom.

"Harry!" she gasped, as she pushed open the door. Her eyes darted over his prone form, facedown on the floor, one hand still clutching a bloodstained towel. She dropped down on her knees beside him, terrified that she was too late. Her hands shook as she reached for him, using all her strength to turn him over. He was breathing. But his skin was shockingly cold, and his face so pale it was almost entirely white. His scar stood out vividly on his forehead, dried blood crusted around it.

"Harry!" she said urgently, shaking him. He didn't move, and she found that she was afraid. She tried slapping his face and collecting some water from the tap to throw at him, but both attempts proved fruitless. She rocked back onto her heels, trying to figure out what to do while Binka shuffled around her anxiously.

Should she wake up Daniyel's parents? Call an ambulance? How could she possibly explain his scar, or her presence for that matter? She had no idea what was wrong with him – surely it was something magical – would the doctors even know what to do with him? Was it even relevant?

In the end she decided it wasn't – she could hardly leave Harry unconscious on the floor and do nothing. She scrambled back to her feet and rushed into the bedroom. She would wake up Daniyel's parents – make up some story. She saw Harry's wand on his bedside table out of the corner of her eye and paused, thinking furiously. If it was magical…

 _One more try,_ she decided. She snatched it up and hurried back into the bathroom, where Harry still lay motionless. She pointed the wand at him, feeling foolish, as she dug through her memory for the Reviving Spell. She had seen the word printed on the page so many times she had lost count. What was it… Ennervate? Rennervate? Yes, that was it.

"Work, damn you," she whispered, her voice strained as her panic pounded loudly against her chest. " _Rennervate._ "

To her utter shock, Harry stirred and his eyes flickered open. He stared up at her blearily.

"Oh thank God," she breathed, gripping the wand tightly in relief. "Harry!" She crouched back down beside him. "Are you OK? What happened?"

He looked up at her in groggy confusion and then, in a barely audible voice, whispered, "…Hermione?"

"It's Ella," she said, momentarily feeling a twinge of irrational disappointment that she immediately pushed away. "Harry, what happened?"

"I dunno," he mumbled. "It was a dream. My scar…"

"It was bleeding?"

"Yes."

"OK," she said, her voice calm, trying to keep control of the situation. "It's going to be OK." She wasn't sure if it was. "Can you stand?"

"I think so."

"OK, come on."

She pulled him to his feet and helped him to the bed, which he sank onto gratefully. Ella threw the blanket over him and sat down in the desk chair, facing the bed. Binka jumped up beside Harry and curled up into a ball at his feet.

"Are you OK?" she asked again. It was a stupid question. He wasn't, of course.

"I'm fine," Harry said, but his voice was faint and his face was still ghostly pale. "Sirius… I should tell him…"

He reached for the bedside table, but she could see it was too much effort for him. She grabbed the disc and passed it to him wordlessly. He took it in both hands with a murmur of "thanks" and closed his eyes in concentration. She waited with bated breath, but nothing happened.

"It's not working," Harry said, his brow furrowed in frustration.

"Sirius isn't answering?"

"No, it's not that…. It's not connecting," he mumbled. "It's almost like I can't…" He paused, and then added in a defeated tone, "It's almost like I can't feel the magic that connects us."

He hung his head wearily, and Ella thought she understood. He had exhausted his whole supply of magical energy fighting through the ordeal with his dream, and his scar. He couldn't summon up enough to make the phone call. Everything had a limit.

Silently, she reached out and took the disc from his freezing hands. She cupped it in her palms, staring at it curiously, wondering if she could make it work. She had been able to cast the Reviving Spell after all, and if she focused inward hard enough, she thought she could just feel a strange energy coursing through her. Waiting to be called.

The disc suddenly turned warm in her hands, and she nearly dropped it in surprise. Harry's curious gaze upon her mirrored her own stunned expression, but he didn't speak. It was a few moments before Sirius's face appeared, his hair a messy tangle.

"Ella?" he said in confusion as he stifled a yawn. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"I don't… know," she said slowly. " _Yes_. It's Harry. Something's definitely wrong."

She passed the disc over to Harry, Sirius's alarmed face closing the distance between them, and sat back at the desk, drumming her foot uneasily as Harry filled Sirius in on the details of the night.

"Are you all right?" Sirius asked anxiously, when Harry finished speaking.

"I'll be fine," Harry insisted, "but I'm not sure what this means. The dream… and my scar."

"I don't know either," Sirius admitted. "I'll bring it to Dumbledore. I'll look for him now. But Harry, you look exhausted… please get some rest in the meantime."

"Yeah, OK…" Harry said, looking down. Ella had never heard him sound so defeated.

"Hey," Sirius said. "It's going to be fine, Harry. We'll figure this out. Here, you should take this."

Harry glanced up to see Sirius holding out a vial of purple potion. He reached for it, their hands almost touching as the vial passed through the obscure field of the projector and shimmered into being. Harry closed his fingers around it, his hand passing through Sirius's insubstantial one.

"It's a potion for dreamless sleep," Sirius said, in response to Harry's questioning look. "Take it."

"Got a lot of those laying around, have you?" Harry said quietly. Sirius gave him a grim smile.

"Take the potion, Harry. We'll talk soon."

"All right, thanks."

Sirius gave them a brief wave and his likeness and the blue dome vanished, throwing the room into near darkness again. Harry put down the disc and glanced at Ella.

"That's good, isn't it?" she said. "Sounds like Sirius is on top of it." Now that someone was sorting things out, and they had the initial beginnings of a plan, she was feeling better about the whole thing.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will know what this all means," Harry agreed. He raised the potion, then lowered it again and looked at her seriously.

"Ella, you did _magic_... didn't you?"

"Er…" she said, pausing to consider the question. "I think so…"

"But _how_?" Harry said, nonplussed. "Are you a witch?"

"I don't know…" she said slowly. "I can't quite explain what happened. But we'll figure it out later, I suppose. Drink your potion – go on."

Harry nodded silently, then winced, as if the motion had been painful. Ella felt a profound sadness for him that tore at her very being. Even here, as far away from Hogwarts and Voldemort as Harry could possibly be, he was still tormented by the chains that bound him to Voldemort – and by the dreams she suspected would follow him for years to come. There was a part of her that wanted nothing more than to hug him tightly and make it all go away. But she wasn't sure if Harry would appreciate the sentiment.

"Harry," she said, settling for emotional support, "if you ever want to talk about it, or anything, I'm here, OK? And Rob, too. You're not alone over here – you have us. Don't forget."

"Thanks," he said softly. "That means a lot. And thanks for tonight – but why did you come here?"

"It's a bit odd, actually…" she said, and launched into a brief explanation of her anxiety-inducing premonitions while Harry stared at her as he absently scratched Binka behind the ears.

"Yeah, that _is_ pretty odd," he said, when she was finished. "Handy, though."

"Definitely handy." She grinned.

"I reckon it sounds a bit like… magic," Harry said, his expression curious.

"You think my 'magical powers of anxious warnings' are _actually_ magical?" she said, dumbfounded.

"It would probably help explain how you used magic tonight."

Ella fell silent, considering the implications of this. She didn't see how it could be possible that she was a witch, but Daniyel was at Hogwarts using magic, after all. Ever since she had found out that Hogwarts wasn't just a story, _impossible_ was no longer a word in her repertoire.

She glanced over at the clock and was shocked to see that it was after five in the morning. The sun would be rising soon.

"We'll figure it out later," she said abruptly. "You should get some rest. Drink your potion."

"You're right. Thanks."

He downed the potion in one long gulp and slumped back against the bed. She reached out and took the vial before it fell from his limp fingers and put it on the bedside table. She stood there, watching Harry until he fell asleep, and for a little while after, until the sky began to lighten in the distance and the very first rays of early dawn filtered in through the window and awakened her to her own exhaustion. She laid a hand briefly on Harry's shoulder, and then stole out the window, back down the trellis, and into the lightening dimness of the last bit of night.

* * *

" _The power of the mighty Slytherin_ ," Dumbledore mused. "Are you certain that's what he said?"

"Yes," Sirius said. "Why, does it mean something?"

They were sitting in Dumbledore's study, the darkness outside still substantial in the early hours of the morning. The weight of it pressed against the windows with a heavy chill.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers on the desk before him and rested his chin upon them. "Perhaps," he conceded.

"Well?" Sirius said gruffly. "How long do you plan to keep me in the dark?"

"Only as long as necessary," Dumbledore said, looking at him seriously.

"That's _enough_!" Sirius said angrily, jumping to his feet. "My godson is suffering, Dumbledore! I won't just stand by while Harry struggles through this alone! Tell me everything, I demand it!"

Dumbledore looked at him calmly. "Sit down, Sirius."

Sirius sat, his arms crossed angrily over his chest. The office fell into silence.

"You keep so many secrets," Sirius said finally. "It's unbecoming." He gave a short, bitter laugh.

"Yes, perhaps it is time to lighten the load," Dumbledore said softly. They eyed each other for several moments in silence before he spoke again. "Tell me, Sirius, did you ever wonder why Voldemort tried to murder Harry, when he was a child?"

"Of course," Sirius said immediately. "But not right away, I'll admit. We all thought Voldemort was after James and Lily, in the beginning. When I saw the ruins of the house, and little Harry in the rubble…" He shuddered. "He was just a baby," he whispered. The memory still haunted him, years later.

"Yes," Dumbledore said softly, "a terrible tragedy, Sirius. You are correct, however, Voldemort was after James as well. But he would have spared Lily, I am certain, if she had not protected Harry the way she did."

"Please," Sirius said gruffly, "I can't bear to hear this again." He shook his head sharply, as if trying to erase the details from his mind.

Dumbledore appraised him silently as Sirius put his face in his hands. "Did you know, why he was after James?" he said finally, his voice soft.

"No," Sirius admitted. "We thought it was because they were in the Order; because they had dealt so many decisive blows against Voldemort in the past. After everything – with Peter – I didn't find out that Voldemort had actually been after Harry until I was in Azkaban. And in there, things were so…" He trailed off, then added angrily, "Please, Dumbledore, stop with the interrogation. Just tell me what you know."

"Very well," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort attacked James Potter, not because he was in the Order, but because he was Gryffindor's heir."

"What," Sirius said, stunned. "He – _what_? He can't have been."

"I assure you that he was."

Sirius stared at Dumbledore, his face set in disbelief. "Well, he sure kept that quiet," he said finally.

"To be fair, he didn't know," Dumbledore said gently. "Not until almost the very end. I don't believe this was something that James chose to keep from you. I know he valued his friendship with you deeply."

"He did," Sirius said quietly, thinking back to the last time he had seen James alive. It had been only a few days before Halloween. Lily had dressed Harry as a mandrake and had been attempting to stuff him into a large flowerpot. Halloween family photos, she had said. They couldn't leave the house, but she didn't want Harry's second Halloween to pass by unremembered.

Peter had been there as well; they had been discussing plans to switch Secret Keepers. They would perform the new Fidelius Charm before they left that day. James had looked worn, he recalled, as if he had been carrying a great weight on his shoulders. Sirius had assumed it was the immensity of the situation they had all found themselves in: the concern for the safety of his family, the unease about why Remus was not communicating with them – fears about whether he could really be a traitor. _James had never believed it._

But Sirius wondered, now, whether it could have been something more. When he was leaving, for what he would soon learn would be the last time, James had rested a hand on his shoulder briefly. "We should talk, Padfoot. When things calm down."

_What had he wanted to say?_

Sirius came back to the present at the sound of Dumbledore's voice.

"Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin," Dumbledore continued quietly. "He made it his mission, long ago, to wipe out the descendants of Gryffindor."

"So Harry," Sirius said, realization dawning upon him, "Harry is–"

"Gryffindor's last remaining heir, yes. That's why Voldemort wants him."

"But that's _absurd_ ," Sirius said quietly, his voice shaking with anger. "Harry's just a child. He's hardly a threat to be taken out. What could Voldemort possibly want with him, that warrants hunting him down like this?"

"Whether or not Harry is a threat to Voldemort remains to be seen," Dumbledore said. "As for why Voldemort wants him – one can only theorize. There are many reasons: power, control, prophecy…"

"But you know, don't you?"

"I cannot claim to know, Sirius. I can only speculate. There is some precedent for this. Stories."

"What stories?"

"You know about the founding of Hogwarts, I presume?" Dumbledore asked. "Slytherin's split from the school and the Chamber of Secrets he left behind?"

"Yes, of course."

"There are stories," Dumbledore said softly, "that after Slytherin left, he attempted to start his own magical school – a shadow of Hogwarts, where only those of pure-blood lineage would be accepted. According to the few sources available, he was propagating a pure-blood rhetoric, similar to the platform on which Voldemort stands today.

"Gryffindor went after Slytherin, sometime after the break. Views on the aim of his undertaking vary – either to attempt to bring him back into the fold of reason, or to stop him from disseminating his inflammatory teachings further. I believe it's fair to say that either objective would have been a worthy goal.

"We will likely never know, but if attempts at a peaceful reconciliation were made, they were unsuccessful. Gryffindor and Slytherin engaged in a duel, during which they both sustained mortal injuries. Gryffindor died upon the dueling ground, which is said to have been in the very heart of Shadow Hogwarts itself. Slytherin remained alive for only a short time after. It is said that during this time, he cursed the halls of Shadow Hogwarts, and decreed the school shall remain abandoned, until The Union of Awakening comes to pass."

" _The Union of Awakening_? What's that?"

"As for that," Dumbledore said, "I have been searching for a long time, and have found little of enlightening significance." He stood up and walked to the window, gazing out across the darkened grounds. Sirius wondered if the answers he was searching for were written there, in the shadows.

"But I do believe it is likely a spell… fabricated for the purpose of obtaining power," Dumbledore added quietly. "And I am of the opinion that Voldemort believes Harry has a key role to play in this… awakening."

"I don't know what role Voldemort thinks Harry can play in any of this, but we can't let it happen," Sirius said angrily. "Harry's not some pawn for Voldemort to place on his chessboard."

"No," Dumbledore agreed, "that he is not."

"And where is this… Shadow Hogwarts?"

"Impossible to say, regrettably," Dumbledore said wearily. He turned away from the window and glanced at Sirius once more, his face more lined and weary than Sirius had ever seen it. "There is no evidence proving the school exists today, or has, in fact, ever existed at all. Hogwarts was founded over one thousand years ago, and most of these accounts are hardly what you would consider hard evidence. In fact, most of them are scarcely more than conjecture."

"All right," Sirius said harshly, "so everything you've just told me is a bunch of legends and fairytales. Is this really all we have? And you still haven't explained what this has to do with Harry's dreams. Or his scar!"

"Harry's dreams," Dumbledore mused. He returned to the desk and sat opposite Sirius once more. "That is a complicated subject. Gryffindor was a powerful wizard, and there is much old magic that has been passed down through his bloodline. I have long suspected that Harry may be a true seer."

"A seer!" Sirius scoffed. "Divination is only Harry's worst class."

"That is quite irrelevant," Dumbledore said with a small shrug. "Especially considering – er – the state of things with Divination." His blue eyes twinkled momentarily behind his spectacles. "I simply mean, Sirius, that he can see and sense things – at least in relation to Voldemort. He is sensitive to certain events that have happened, or are happening now. Maybe more. I believe he has yet to reach his full potential in regards to this ability."

"So what's wrong with him, then?" Sirius said. "Why are his dreams taking over like this? Why's his scar bleeding? I've never seen him like this, Dumbledore. I don't know if he can handle another dream like last night."

"That is harder to say," Dumbledore admitted. "Assuming I am correct in my assessment of Harry's powers, his dreams are very relevant, and are meant to relay an important message. The meaning is, as of yet, unclear. I cannot categorically say why they are having such a profound physical effect on his well-being, but perhaps some of the strain is caused by distance."

"You mean by Harry being over there?"

"Yes, that is one possibility. Magic is within us, Sirius, but we are also surrounded by it. It is part of the very being of this world, and as long as we breathe in this air and walk upon it, we can use our magic to almost limitless bounds. However, by spending so much time in an inherently non-magical world, Harry is essentially severed from the core of his powers. He has a harder time channeling magic over that kind of distance, and is therefore depleting his reserve of magical energy faster; so his defenses against magical attacks are not as effective."

"So the only solution is to get him back home?" Sirius said slowly. "And if we can't?"

"I assure you, he will not sustain any permanent injury," Dumbledore said, his tone reassuring. "You said you gave him a potion for dreamless sleep? With ample rest, he should recover on his own."

"That's it?" Sirius said incredulously. "We can hardly give him potions every night."

"No," Dumbledore agreed, "of course not. We will have to teach him a spell to help close his mind: the Dream Guard Charm. We can start this afternoon, if Harry feels sufficiently acceptable – which I do believe he will."

Sirius still looked displeased with this solution, but he nodded stiffly. Dumbledore glanced toward the window once more, where the darkness had become just a few degrees lighter.

"We will check in with Harry this afternoon," he said softly.

"And you'll tell him – all this?" Sirius insisted. "He has a right to know, Dumbledore."

"Yes, I suppose we will," Dumbledore agreed.

"All right," Sirius said. He stood up, stretched, and walked towards the door. It had been a long conversation, and it left him with much to contemplate, starting with Dumbledore's own role in what James had known about his ancestry, and finishing, quite decisively, in the implications for Harry's future. Voldemort wanted his godson dead, and Sirius could not let it happen. He had failed James and Lily, had failed Remus, and he categorically could _not_ fail Harry too.

"Sirius," Dumbledore said, and Sirius paused with his hand on the door. "Did you say that the girl, Ella, was the one that called you?"

Sirius glanced back at Dumbledore. He had nearly forgotten. "That's right."

"That," Dumbledore said, "is very interesting – very interesting indeed."

For just a second, Sirius thought he saw a familiar old glint in Dumbledore's eyes.


	16. Light of Day

**Chapter Sixteen:**

_Light of Day_

.

When Harry woke up, the sun was high in the sky and streaming harshly though the window. It was just past noon.

He sat up, squinting in the bright light and feeling well rested for the first time in a while. It was a second before he remembered the details of the previous night. The dream. Ella. The potion.

He stood up slowly and found that he felt more or less okay. His scar was pounding very slightly, but he had already accepted that as his new normal. The projector disc lay on his bedside table where Ella had left it, next to the empty vial of potion. Next to them was Daniyel's cell phone, which Harry glanced at briefly. There was a text from Ella from around an hour ago: _Hey txt when ur up k?_

There was another text from half an hour after that: _Hey everything ok?_

He took the tiny phone and used the number pad to key in a quick response: _im ok thx ella_

It was, he supposed, faster than sending Hedwig back and forth – and definitely cooler than the beeper Dudley used to send out coded strings of numbers.

When he made his way down to the kitchen a little while later, he found Ella seated at the island, chatting comfortably with Daniyel's mum.

"Hey, Dan," she said, grinning brightly. "Are you ready?"

"Er–" Harry said, "yes?"

"I hear you're off to the park to run lines?" Mrs. Bluelake said.

"Your mum was nice enough to pack us some sandwiches," Ella said brightly, holding up a basket. "Shall we go?"

"Sure…" Harry said. "Later, Mum. Sorry, lots to do."

She waved them out and Harry followed Ella to the door. Once they were outside and walking down the driveway, Ella turned to him, her eyes drawn in concern.

"Sorry about that, I just wanted to check on you without Dan's mum worrying. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Harry said honestly.

"Are you really?"

"Yes, completely."

Ella looked incredibly relieved. "Good. That's good. I was worried."

"Sorry about that," Harry said guiltily.

She waved him off. "Please, it's not your fault."

Harry followed her as she turned onto the street and started walking up the block. "Where are we going?"

"Oh, the park, I suppose," she said. "We should probably check in with Sirius, right?"

"Good idea," he agreed. Sirius would have talked to Dumbledore by now, and Harry wanted answers. Ella looked pleased, and as they walked towards the park, she slipped a pair of sunglasses over her nose, and put her hair up into a bun. Then she tossed Harry a baseball cap, which he jammed over his messy hair, tipping the brim down to hide his face.

"Should we see if Rob can join us?" Ella suggested as they turned into the park and made their way past families spread out picnicking on the grass. It was a beautiful Sunday.

Harry considered this. There was a part of him that wanted to keep his dreams as hidden as possible, and just the memory of Ella finding him last night filled him with a sense of shame. But at the same time, last night had made him realize that he couldn't do everything alone. Ella and Robert were the only two people he had in this world, and he needed them, now more than ever.

"Sure," he said.

She grinned, took out her flip phone and started keying a text into it as they walked. Harry watched her fingers fly expertly over the numbers in a blur, her face furrowed in concentration. Instant communication. _What Mr. Weasley wouldn't give to play with a cell phone…_

They eventually found themselves in a secluded corner of the park, in the shadow of several trees on a small hill. Ella climbed onto a low branch and leaned against the tree trunk, her knees drawn up to her chest. Harry settled next to her at the other end of the branch, where it split to create a surprisingly comfortable space to sit. He leaned back against the branches, looking up at the green canopy above him. The wind rustled through the leaves and played across his face. It was rather pleasant.

"What do you think it means, your dream?" Ella asked.

"I think," Harry said slowly, "that Voldemort is planning something. Something big."

"Did you see where he was?" The question sounded casual enough, but he thought he could just detect a hint of trepidation underneath.

"A castle," Harry said. "It's always a castle."

"Always?"

"It's not the first time," he admitted, "that I've dreamed about him there."

She stared at him, her brown eyes growing wider. "You mean you've had this dream before?!"

"It's always a little different, but I've seen him there before. I think he's hiding out at this castle, wherever it is."

"Harry!" Ella scolded. "Why haven't you said anything? This sounds really important. Do Sirius and Dumbledore know about this?"

"They know about the castle," Harry said quickly. "And the forest."

"So it's just us you haven't told?" She sounded hurt.

"Look, I didn't want to worry you and Rob," Harry said. "I haven't told Ron or Hermione either."

"Harry!" Ella said, frustrated. "When are you going to stop acting like you can do everything on your own?"

"Damn it, Ella!" Harry said, his voice rising slightly. "It's not – I don't like talking about it."

"I don't care!" she said, glaring at him. "You have to! _Why don't you get it?_ We care about you. We're friends, aren't we? You can trust us. We don't mind if you worry us. Just let us... let us help you."

They stared each other down, Harry feeling slightly ashamed as he quailed under her gaze.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, "I'll tell you everything from now on, all right? I promise."

"Good." She looked at him seriously, her gaze intense. "I want to do whatever I can, to help win this war. _Anything_. You're going to beat Voldemort, Harry. I know it. And I want to help you do that."

She held his gaze, and for a second the sun cut through the shadowy canopy of the trees and lit up her hair. Her eyes glowed golden in the sunlight. It was a fleeting moment, but in that second she had transformed, her face alight with fierce determination. It was stunningly beautiful. Harry tore his eyes away, feeling his face grow warm.

"Right," he said. "OK, thanks."

Just then he felt the disc grow hot in his pocket. He fumbled for it and nearly dropped it as he pulled it out. Sirius's face appeared before them. Ella glanced around nervously at the still empty clearing and slid closer to Harry on the branch.

"Harry!" Sirius said, grinning. "All right?"

"I'm OK, thanks, Sirius. The potion really helped."

"Good," Sirius said, "glad to hear it. Listen, Harry, I've been talking to Dumbledore and there are some things you should know."

When Sirius and Dumbledore finished speaking at last, Harry sat in stunned silence. He didn't even know where to start.

"I know, it's a lot," Sirius said.

"I'm the _Heir of Gryffindor_?" Harry said slowly. Ella seemed equally surprised.

"So my dad–" Harry said, and his voice cracked. He tried again. "Voldemort killed my dad, because of this. And that's why he wants to kill me?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said softly.

Harry looked down then, and Ella touched his arm gently. When he looked up again, his eyes were set. "He's hiding out there, isn't he – that Shadow Hogwarts? That's the castle I saw in my dream."

"It is possible," Dumbledore allowed. "But, Harry, even if that _is_ the case, unfortunately it isn't very helpful, since we don't know where Shadow Hogwarts may be."

"Well, are you looking for it?"

"We have been," Dumbledore confirmed, "but so far we have no information. Voldemort has gone deep underground after the Ministry conceded his return. There have been isolated incidents of Death Eater activity since, but no word of Voldemort himself, nor contact with any of our agents."

"With Snape, you mean?" Harry said, feeling a surge of irrational anger.

" _Professor Snape_ , Harry," Dumbledore corrected. "And yes, Professor Snape has not had contact with Voldemort in some weeks."

"Maybe Voldemort made him," Harry suggested. "Maybe his cover's blown, Professor. Maybe he's lying to you!"

"I assure you that Severus Snape is on our side, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice calm but with a touch of impatience in it. "And that we are looking for Voldemort with every resource at our disposal.

"Now, we need to work on a solution to your dream issue. The dreams, while useful, are having too great of an effect on you physically, so we are going to teach you a charm to protect your mind. You can perform it before you go to sleep, and it should lessen–"

"No," Harry said sharply. He looked at Dumbledore and Sirius defiantly.

"What do you mean, no?" Sirius said. "Harry, you have to learn this charm. It's incredibly important."

"You just said," said Harry slowly, "that my dreams are important. They could be the only way to find Voldemort. I can't just stop having them. I can deal with it. I'm fine."

He thought back briefly to the previous night, when he had stumbled into the bathroom. There had been a moment, when he had truly thought he was done for. But it was easy, in the soft dappled sunlight of the afternoon, to push away the shadows of the night. He had been fine. Certainly, he hadn't actually been in danger. If there was something he could do, trapped here, to help find Voldemort, he sure wasn't going to sit back and let the opportunity slip away.

"Harry–" Sirius began firmly.

"No, Sirius!" Harry said, his voice rising. "He's after me! He wants _me_ dead, and I'm safely over here while Daniyel is over there walking around with my face on display! So if there's something I can do to help, I'm bloody well doing it!"

"As admirable as your intentions are, Harry," Dumbledore said softly, holding up a hand to stop Sirius from responding, "I'm afraid you are mistaken in your assessment of the situation. The Dream Guard Charm will not prevent you from having the dreams, it will simply strengthen the cognitive barrier between your sleeping and waking mind, and prevent the physical blowback you are experiencing."

"Oh," Harry mumbled, embarrassed. The anger was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "All right, then. Sorry, Professor."

"It is quite all right," Dumbledore said calmly, as Sirius looked on behind him, his face still set in exasperation. "Now, Harry, it is a simple charm. The incantation is _Animus Armum_. The wand movement is as follows. You must connect the points of energy within your mind to create the shield."

Dumbledore demonstrated the wand movement, which Harry imitated. "Now the incantation," Dumbledore said softly, his wand pressed to the center of his temple. "Repeat after me."

" _Animus Armum_ ," Harry whispered, the tip of his wand aligned with the very edge of his scar. He felt his hair lift gently from his forehead, as though ruffled by a gentle breeze. A small burst of energy flowed from his hand, through his wand, and settled around his head. The sensation was gone within seconds. His scar throbbed once. He looked back at Dumbledore.

"Very good," Dumbledore said. "You will need to do it every evening, before you go to sleep."

"That's it?" Harry said, surprised. He had been expecting something more involved.

"Yes," Dumbledore said simply. "As I said, it is a simple charm. There may be a bit of a settling in period as your mind adjusts, but this should be very effective. Now, Harry, do you mind if I speak to Miss Foster?"

"Huh?" Ella said, shifting on the branch in surprise. "Me?"

She had been sitting beside Harry so quietly he had nearly forgotten she was there.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "Sirius tells me you performed some magic yesterday. I would be most interested to hear about it."

"All right," Ella said, and launched into the story of her premonitions and the events that had followed. Harry sat back silently, wondering how everything had been turned so upside down as he rubbed at his scar, which throbbed mildly again.

"Most fascinating," Dumbledore said serenely when Ella was done. "It does sound as if you have some intrinsic magical abilities, Miss Foster. Since you have discovered them on your own, I think it would be best if Harry were to give you some guidance on controlling them. It would not do to suppress them, or allow them to go undirected.

"Harry, do you feel yourself up to this challenge?" Dumbledore added, turning back to Harry, who nodded.

"Yes, Professor, I can give it a go."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said pleasantly. He lifted a couple of books and passed them to Harry through the projector's dome. Harry glanced at the familiar covers: _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ by Miranda Goshawk, and _Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling. "These should prove useful. Do let us know if you have any trouble. Now, I believe that will be all. Harry, you will keep us updated on the progress with your dreams?" Harry nodded mutely.

"Harry, you _will_ let me know if the charm's not helping?" Sirius pressed.

"I will, Sirius, don't worry."

"Very good," Dumbledore said. "Enjoy the day, Harry, it looks like you are in the midst of a rather fine summer."

With that, Dumbledore and Sirius vanished, and they were alone in the trees once again. Harry lowered the disc and glanced at Ella, whose eyes were glowing with excitement. She reached for the textbooks and thumbed through them in wonder.

"So," she said brightly, "you're going to teach me magic. Brilliant!"

"I don't know that I'd make a very good teacher," Harry said honestly, "but we can try. You don't have a wand though, Ella. I suppose you'll have to use mine."

"If you don't mind," she said happily. She flipped open _Magical Theory,_ leaned back against the tree trunk,and started reading it intently.

As he watched her eyes blur back and forth across the page, Harry dropped into his own thoughts, his mind struggling to make sense of everything Dumbledore had finally disclosed to him.

_The Heir of Gryffindor?_

It should have come as more of a surprise, but in the end, he found that it wasn't altogether shocking. He had pulled Gryffindor's own sword out of the Sorting Hat back in his second year, after all – the year when all his concerns about Slytherin had finally been cast aside. Did it really matter, in the end, why Voldemort was chasing him? He had already known, long ago, that there was only one path that he could walk, and that path had always had only one destination. It was a path marked by pain and heartache: his parents, Cedric, Sirius's twelve years in Azkaban. He thought, in the end, he could cast that aside no more than Voldemort could cast aside his own obsession.

The information about his dreams was also not altogether surprising. Dumbledore had simply given a name to something Harry had long been experiencing.

No, the thing that really concerned Harry was the Union of Awakening, which Dumbledore had mentioned so briefly, and explained not at all. The words had struck an ominous impression that was both terrifying and familiar in a way he couldn't quite explain. He attempted to lock it down, but the feeling was incredibly elusive.

"Harry?" Ella said, breaking him out of his reveries. He glanced over at her. "What's this, here?" She indicated a page in _Magical Theory_.

"That's the fundamental magical system of the human body," Harry said, looking down at the page she was contemplating. "Magic is contained within you, like an extra force. It's strongest in these points here – your heart, your mind – those are the most important, but also all these here." He pointed to various points of the moving illustration within the book. "It flows between them, and when you're trying to access a particular spell, depending on the type, you will draw energy from the relevant magical reservoir."

"So for a charm, I would have to focus my energy through this point here?"

"That's right," Harry said, trying to ignore his scar, which was starting to throb more frequently. He reasoned that the Dream Guard charm must have irritated it. "The focus is important. Without it, you won't be able to produce the spell properly.

"And the wand movement and incantation even more so," he finished, forcing himself to concentrate on Ella's book.

"Can I try a spell?" She was practically bouncing up and down with excitement at the prospect.

"All right," Harry said, trying to think of something simple. "Maybe you can try _Lumos_. You move your wand in a bit of circular loop, like this, and concentrate on the light… Don't wave it too wildly, though. If you overdo it, you can actually set the wand on fire… er – maybe this actually isn't the best spell to start off with…"

"Don't worry, Harry, I won't set your wand on fire," she said, laughing. "I promise. Give it here."

Harry passed the wand over, feeling rather apprehensive. He was quite fond of his wand, and also not exactly within the vicinity of a wand shop.

"Like this?" Ella asked, imitating his wand movement.

"Yes, that's good, but keep the motion more even when you do the circle."

She tried the motion several times more, until Harry was satisfied, then she added the words. The wand tip came to life on her first try, glowing faintly yellow in the daylight. Ella smiled as brightly as the glowing wand. As Harry watched in amusement, the light changed to a blazing scarlet. He raised his eyebrows.

"You're using too much energy, Ella. Scale it back."

"Er - OK," she said, fumbling with the wand. She closed her eyes in concentration and as the light flickered back out, the wand slipped out of her hand and rolled down the grassy slope of the hill. "Shit, sorry!"

"It's fine," Harry said. "You were brilliant. I can't believe you got that on the first try."

He slid off the branch to retrieve the wand, and as his feet hit the ground, his scar gave a particularly agonizing throb. For a terrifying moment, he couldn't see anything but white fog and the glowing red eyes of Voldemort boring into his own. His vision cleared abruptly, and the surroundings of the park came back into focus. He found that he was on his knees in the grass. Ella had jumped down to crouch beside him.

"What is it, what's wrong?" she said urgently.

"N-nothing," Harry mumbled, as he grabbed onto the branch and pulled himself back to his feet. His vision was still dotted with white. He squinted, trying to clear it. Ella was still staring at him in concern, when suddenly, a very different voice cut through the clearing:

"Don't move."

Harry squinted over at the speaker, still holding on to the tree branch, and saw a tall man, dressed all in black. A cap was pulled low over his eyes, and he could just make out a narrow chin and pointed nose beneath it. A small, black handgun was glinting in his right hand. Ella drew in a sharp breath beside him.

The man inched nearer as they stood there, frozen. Harry willed his head to clear so he could focus. _If he could just get to his wand…_

"What have you got there?" the man said, drawing closer to them. His eyes were on the picnic basket.

"Just-just some sandwiches," Ella said, her voice shaking slightly.

"Chuck it over here, girl," he spat at her. "Go on!"

With trembling hands, Ella reached for the basket and tossed it in the man's general direction. It fell by his feet. His eyes and the gun still trained on them, he crouched down and reached for it. Harry felt as if everything around him was moving in slow motion. He scanned the ground, searching for the dark wood of his wand within the individual blades of grass. His eyes spotted the handle, some ten feet away. He raised a hand towards it slowly, palm open.

"Don't move!" the man snapped again, and sharply swung the gun to point directly at Harry's heart. Harry froze; sweat beading on the back of his neck. White dots still swam across his vision.

"Please," Ella said, her eyes wide, "don't shoot. Take the basket–"

"Shut up!" the man hissed, aiming the gun at her instead.

She fell abruptly silent, raising her hands in front of her as if they were a shield. The man eyed them, as if considering his options. Harry made another attempt to reach his wand. He focused on the wooden stick and imagined it flying to him as his mouth formed the word, " _Accio_."

Shockingly, the wand flew up into the air and shot in Harry's direction, and then several things happened at once. The man whirled, his eyes widening as the wand zoomed towards Harry. He cursed, and his fingers instinctively squeezed the trigger of the gun, which exploded in a burst of sound – the bullet flying wildly in their direction and lodging itself in the tree behind them. Ella let out a terrified gasp and jerked towards Harry as the wand slipped into his outstretched fingers. He grabbed it – just as the man focused on him and squeezed the trigger once more – and instinctively screamed, " _Protego!_ " and a shield burst into being around them, causing the second bullet to fly off to the side moments before crashing into them. Simultaneously, the man stumbled forward, and behind him appeared Robert, pale-faced, with one fist raised. The man spun around and threw himself at Robert, gun still in hand, and they both toppled to the ground with a loud thud. Ella screamed in panic and a burst of raw energy exploded from her outstretched hand and smashed into the man, forcing him off Robert and propelling him several feet forward, where he hit the ground with a crash and didn't move again. His gun landed several feet away.

Robert lowered his fist as he stared at them, wide-eyed, blood trailing from a darkening bruise on his cheek. Harry sagged against the tree branch, panting, his vision still cloudy, and Ella stared down at her hand in shock, her eyes flickering to the man on the ground and back.

"Bloody hell," Robert gasped finally, "are you both all right?"

Before Harry or Ella could respond, several people materialized from the trees around them, as if by magic, and stared around the scene in astonishment. There were several screams and gasps, and multiple people reached for their phones. Harry shoved his wand quickly out of sight and stumbled to his feet. Ella seemed stunned into silence, her hands shaking.

"It's them!" one of the onlookers exclaimed, pointing her finger at Harry. "H-Harry Potter!" There were renewed gasps from the crowd, and more phones appeared, aiming at them from the circle of onlookers. The irony of it all was almost enough to make Harry burst out in an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

Before he could do a thing, however, there was a grunt and the man stumbled to his feet and darted toward the trees, shoving two stunned onlookers roughly aside.

"S-stop!" Ella cried, finding her voice at last. "Someone call 999!"

She needn't have bothered though. Sirens were already growing louder in the distance, and within moments, four police officers burst into the clearing.

Harry and Ella dropped down beside Robert, who was holding a hand gingerly to his bleeding cheek, and watched in relief as the officers secured the scene.

"Oh my God," Ella whispered, her voice still a mask of breathless panic. "I can't– This is fucking insane. And this is going to be all over the Internet by tonight! Holy shit!"

She threw her arms around them both abruptly and buried her face in Harry's shoulder. Harry put one arm around her a little awkwardly and tried his best to avoid the onlookers, who were still snapping away with their phones.

* * *

"So just to make sure we have this down correctly: the man demanded your belongings, then shot at you and Miss Foster with his gun, missed on account of Mr. Murphie tackling him from behind, and then, after they struggled, he dropped his gun and took off, before being successfully apprehended?" the constable, Williams, who was taking Harry's statement repeated, glancing at his notepad.

"That's right," Harry said evenly.

"Very well," Constable Williams said. He was young and thin, with curly black hair, and Harry suspected he was straight out of the academy.

"I love your work by the way, Mr. Bluelake," he added brightly, allowing a small grin to cross his face. "I'm a huge fan. So glad you all weren't seriously hurt."

"Er – thanks," Harry said.

Constable Williams shook his hand and walked away, and Harry made his way over to Robert, who was sitting at the edge of the clearing, a paramedic applying a bandage to his cheek.

"All right?" Harry asked.

"Never better," Robert said, grinning, as the paramedic secured the bandage and stepped away. "Could've been a lot worse for sure."

"Definitely," Harry agreed, shuddering at the thought. If he had been just a second slower getting to his wand… He glanced over at Ella, who was on the phone with either Carlos, or her agent, or her mum – or possibly all three, and felt a fist clench around his stomach. It had been just a man with a gun, not even Voldemort, and he had almost allowed his friends to be hurt. Again.

Ella wrapped up her phone call and came over to join them; smiling briefly at the crowd that had gathered behind the barricade the police had set up. Everyone clapped and waved enthusiastically as she sat down next to Harry and Robert.

"You have uncanny timing, Rob," she said quietly. "I'm so sorry you got hurt."

"All good. He only smacked me with the gun; it sure beats getting shot at. Thanks for getting him off me by the way, Harry," he added in a low voice.

"Actually," Harry said quietly, "you can thank Ella for that one."

"Whaaat?" Robert said, drawing out the word. He turned to stare at her.

"Well," Ella said softly, as she gazed around and raised a hand to wave at her mother, who was pushing her way hurriedly past the barricade. Daniyel's parents were right behind her. She turned back to Robert. "This is really not the ideal time for this conversation, but no time like the present, I suppose. It seems I'm a wizard, Rob – or a witch, at any rate! Man, I've always wanted to say that!"

She grinned, jumped up, and took off towards the adults, the bounce in her step more evident now that the danger had passed. Robert watched her go, his mouth hanging open, his face torn between surprise and amusement. Harry let out a relieved breath. Somehow, it had all turned out OK. And that was something to hold on to, despite whatever came after.


	17. Back to Before

**Chapter Seventeen:**

_Back to Before_

.

The light in the library glowed steadily darker as Daniyel flipped dully through the pages of an old, thick book, his eyes bleary with tiredness. The library, which had emptied out around him over the past hour, had settled into a comforting silence. He barely noticed, his eyes glued to the text.

… _meddling with the magic of time can potentially alter life paths and cause drastic changes in the singular flow of history. In situations where a time-shift has occurred, it will be possible for a parallel reality – that is to say, an alternate reality – to germinate from the point of interruption and…_

Daniyel sighed and put his face in his hands, digging his palms into his eyes as he rubbed them in exhaustion. He felt like he was getting entirely nowhere. Perhaps he was pursuing the wrong line of inquiry. It wasn't precisely time travel he was after… but the library wasn't exactly bursting with research materials on switching places with a fictional character – who was, as it turned out, not so fictional at all.

It had been roughly two weeks since Dumbledore had waved him from his office with his cryptic hints, which sounded more like warnings, and an unfaltering trust in Severus Snape, which, Daniyel was quite certain, was grievously misplaced. Though Daniyel had spent much of the intervening time working with Professor Lupin and studying with Ron and Hermione, the topic of Severus Snape had weighed heavily on his mind since their brief exchange in the Headmaster's office.

It wasn't simply Snape that was the problem – or Dumbledore, for that matter. And it wasn't that he was still altogether concerned about Sirius – he hoped his presence here would be quite enough to shift the timeline away from certain… certain tragedies he hoped they could altogether avoid. No, the problem he kept returning to was the scope of the shifting timeline itself, and what on earth that meant for everyone around him… after all, _since when was Harry the heir of bloody Gryffindor?_

Daniyel still remembered the slightly dumbfounded look on Harry's face, clearly visible through the dome of the projector, as Harry had filled him, Ron, and Hermione in on this new development. Ella had been standing silently behind Harry as he spoke, and when Harry had finally told them ("So, it turns out, I'm Gryffindor's heir..."), Daniyel had glanced at Ella in surprise. She had stared back, her eyes wide as they met his, and he understood her look entirely. _How did this happen, and what on earth does it mean?_

And that was a fascinating question, Daniyel thought. Nearly as fascinating as Harry's next pronouncement: " _By the way, Ella can do magic now._ "

That had entirely shifted the conversation away from Harry – which, Daniyel suspected, was exactly what Harry had intended.

He sighed and glanced at the book again, his eyes skimming across the page and not taking in more than a few words. _What time was it?_ Surely, it was very late. Even most of the older students, who had O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s to prepare for, had abandoned the library for the night. He supposed Madam Pince would be by to forcibly remove him soon. He would finish this chapter, and then he would go. He didn't dare take the book.

"Harry! What are you doing?"

He nearly jumped, looking around abruptly. He hadn't wanted Ron and Hermione to find him. He had no concrete explanations for what he was doing. The redhead that was approaching him, however, was Ginny. He let out a relieved breath.

"Hey," he said, as she plopped down into the chair beside him. "Nothing. Studying."

"Without Ron and _Hermione_?" she said skeptically.

"Well, yeah, I'm a bit behind," Daniyel said. "You know Hermione, she's got all that O.W.L. stuff memorized. And Ron, well…" He shrugged, as if to say studying was a problem reserved entirely for Future Ron, who would probably not bother until the exams were two weeks away at best.

"Uh huh," Ginny said. Daniyel leaned back, stretching, and she glanced curiously at his still-open book and read aloud, " _All attempts to travel back further than a few hours have resulted in catastrophic harm to the witch or wizard involved. It was not realized for many years why time travelers_ –"

"Ginny, shhhh!" Daniyel said, abruptly grabbing the book from her and glancing nervously around the library. They were quite alone. Ginny raised her eyebrows at him, clearly waiting for an explanation. "I see you have a habit of reading other people's... everything," he added, somewhat feebly.

"Why are you reading about time travel?" Ginny said, looking a tad offended. "And why are you so paranoid about it?" She lowered her voice and added, "Have you got another Time-Turner? _Are you planning something?_ "

"Sorry," he said quickly. "No, of course not. It just seems like a… delicate subject." He sighed inwardly, forcing himself to calm down. He had no reason to be paranoid – it wasn't as if she had guessed he was someone else entirely. And it wasn't as if books on time travel were out of bounds. "I'm just curious."

"All right," Ginny said, seemingly willing to accept his apology. "I'm not sure why you felt the need to hide it, Harry, but since you're reading up on it, can I help? I've been entirely intrigued with the concept ever since Hermione told me about the Time-Turner. What do you want to know?"

"Er – all right," Daniyel said. She wasn't Ron or Hermione after all, and it probably wouldn't hurt to bounce some ideas off of Ginny, as long as he wasn't too specific in his examples. "I'm wondering what happens when a timeline is altered because of some… event."

"Like going back in time and changing something?"

"Sure. Say a person went back in time and they knew what was going to happen… and they did something to change the past, which is now the present. _Or_ let's say, they didn't even do anything specifically, but just their presence caused… anyway, what do you suppose happens to the original timeline?"

"Well…" Ginny mused, "it'll be gone, won't it? The new timeline will become the original. Like when you three saved Buckbeak."

"Right," Daniyel said curiously, "Buckbeak. Well see, this book is saying that actually it's possible that a new timeline branches off from the point of interruption, and that you continue in the new timeline. The old timeline still exists, but you–"

"Aren't in it anymore," she finished, looking thoughtful. "So you're saying there's an alternate reality where another Harry exists?"

Only years of acting experience prevented Daniyel from reacting.

"And another Ron, and Hermione, and…" she continued, undeterred, her voice now almost a whisper "… and where Buckbeak wasn't saved? Where the Dementors attacked Sirius?"

"Uh huh…" Daniyel said quietly.

 _And another alternate reality_ , he added silently, _where more people Harry cares about are gone._ The timeline had changed when he had entered it. _Or seemingly even before…_ He could hardly deny the fact, every time he saw Arabella and Tonks patrolling the corridors together, or stopping by the Great Hall for a late dinner, their heads bent deep in conversation. And things had happened since that he couldn't have imagined. He knew this already… but did Harry's original timeline still exist somewhere? And what would happen after his part in this story was over? The questions weighed on him constantly.

"But, Harry," Ginny said quietly, "what about when you saved Hermione, Sirius, and yourself from the Dementors? You saw yourself, didn't you? Doesn't that imply that there is only one singular timeline?"

Daniyel contemplated this. It was a good question. It would have been a good answer, too – had it not been for… his situation. _Or was Harry's story not actually tied to the books at all? Was it all a giant coincidence?_

"I dunno," he said slowly. "Maybe there was some bleed-over from the point of interruption, and it created a time loop."

Ginny raised her eyebrows again. "A _time loop_? You sound like a time traveler. Are you from the future, Harry?"

"Of course not!" Daniyel said hurriedly.

Ginny gazed at him, her eyebrows still raised.

"I swear to you that I'm definitely, one hundred percent, _not Harry Potter from the future_ ," Daniyel said.

It wasn't even a lie. Well, _not entirely_.

"Oh, all right," she said, sighing. "It would have been so terribly fun, if you were."

He laughed nervously.

"Have you talked to Hermione about this?" she asked. "I'm surprised you'd go to the library instead of asking her. I know how you and Ron feel about the library."

"What – awesome?" he asked, ignoring her question. Somehow he didn't think Dumbledore would be pleased if he started discussing alternate timelines with either Ron or Hermione, at which point the subject would become a lot less theoretical.

"The library is closing now. If you're taking that book, Potter, bring it up to the desk."

They glanced up to see Madam Pince looking at them sharply from the mouth of the nearest aisle.

"I'm good," Daniyel said quickly, slamming the book shut and shoving it back on the shelf behind him as he and Ginny jumped to their feet. Madam Pince gave him a disapproving glare, as if she didn't quite approve of the way he had handled one of her precious books, but she remained silent as they hurried past her and out into the corridor.

"Lovely woman, isn't she?" said Ginny lightly as they made their way to Gryffindor Tower. "I reckon she likes books better than people."

"I think a lot of people do," he said, grinning. There had been a time, when he was younger, when Ginny's words would have described him perfectly.

They dropped into a companionable silence as they walked, Daniyel's thoughts drifting once again to the issue at hand. He wasn't quite sure what he could do, in actuality, since he did not know anymore how the future would unfold. He supposed he had to keep walking forward and hope that nothing terribly bad happened. It was probably as good a plan as any…

Ginny drew to a halt and he looked up to see the Fat Lady. Somehow, they had walked all the way back without him realizing it.

"Ginny," he said, struck by a sudden inspiration, "you want to play Chaser, don't you?"

"How do you know that?" she asked, surprised.

"Hermione mentioned it," he said quickly. "You've been stealing Fred and George's broomsticks and practicing for years, haven't you?"

"That Hermione, can't keep her mouth shut," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "I'm planning to try out for the team next year, after Angelina and Alicia graduate."

"We can practice with you, if you like," he said. "Ron and me."

"Really? And Ron's up for this?"

"Sure," Daniyel said. "Absolutely." _He would be, at any rate._

Ginny seemed surprised. "Well, all right," she said brightly. "I might take you two up on that. Thanks, Harry!"

She grinned at him and turned to the portrait. He followed her into the common room, fleetingly thinking that the least he could do was make sure that Ginny got enough practice to make the team next year, since – thanks to his presence – it didn't look like she'd have a chance to play this time around. He just hoped Harry would pick her, when he was Quidditch captain. Hopefully, he would still be Quidditch captain…

"Hey, there you are!"

He looked up to see Ron and Hermione waving at him from the nice armchairs by the fire. Daniyel grinned and walked over to them.

"Where have you been?" Hermione asked.

"In the library," he said, "studying. Anyway, Ron, I ran into Ginny, and I've had an idea…"

* * *

That Saturday, as he hovered above the Quidditch pitch in the freezing January wind, Daniyel sincerely regretted his idea.

Ron had not been altogether keen on training with Ginny.

"But why?" he had insisted, when Daniyel suggested it. "Since when is Ginny even _interested_ in Quidditch?"

"For ages," Daniyel informed him.

Ron sighed, glancing askance at Hermione, who had recited, "yes, Ron, for ages. Didn't you know?"

"No, _I didn't know_. Why do _you two_ know?"

Hermione had contented herself with shaking her head in silence while Daniyel simply said, "I'm not at liberty to discuss it," and grinned widely – which caused Hermione to shake her head all the more.

"All right, but why do we have train with her?"

"Because," Daniyel said, choosing his words carefully, "I reckon she could use the practice. She wants to try out for the team next year."

"And she's going to make it?"

Daniyel shrugged. "I guess we'll see." He hoped so. Otherwise Harry and Ginny would probably never get close and his entire plan would be ruined.

Having finally secured Ron's assistance, they suffered through an exceptionally cold two hours of official team practice before Angelina had relinquished her desire for wanting to train in every type of weather imaginable.

"Let's call it a day!" she yelled, her voice barely audible over the harsh wind as she streaked back toward the ground.

"We're staying out for a bit," Ron told her mournfully, as they huddled around Angelina near the changing rooms.

"Well, as impressed as I am by your dedication," she said with some surprise, "don't stay out too long. It's freezing."

"You don't say," Ron said, raising his eyebrows at Daniyel, who shrugged helplessly. Ginny was making her way across the field toward them, and she looked much too excited to be deterred by a little bit of wind.

"Hey there, sis," Fred said as she approached.

"Whatever brings you here?" George added.

"Training with Harry and Ron," she said brightly as Angelina, Alicia, and Katie wrapped their scarves tightly around their faces and trudged off in the direction of the castle.

" _Training?_ " Fred repeated.

" _With Harry and Ron?_ " George said.

" _In this weather?_ "

"That's right," she said pleasantly. "Couldn't trouble one of you two dear brothers for a Cleansweep, could I? Only the school brooms are utterly terrible. You know…"

"A Cleansweep, she says!" Fred said, raising his broomstick in mock horror.

He and George glanced at each other.

"We'll do you one better," George offered. "We'll help you out."

"Best Beaters Hogwarts has to offer, you know," Fred added.

"I don't need Beaters," Ginny said. "Michael's going to do it. I need a broom, though! Come on, don't be gits about it." She grinned at them and gestured back as she spoke, and they glanced around to see Michael Corner walking toward them from the direction of the castle, his Nimbus Eighteen Hundred XF over his shoulder.

"My sweet dear sister–" Fred began, and a gust of icy wind cut across the lot of them with a freezing intensity, drowning out the rest of his words.

"Here, Ginny, you can use the Firebolt," Daniyel interjected quickly, handing it over. "I'll ride a school broom. And Fred and George would be a huge help. Maybe Michael can play Chaser instead. He'd probably be better than me. What?" he added, when everyone stared. "It's cold, come on, let's get a move on!"

"Oooh, wow! Thanks, Harry!" Ginny said excitedly as she reached out to take the broom, grinning like a five-year-old who had just discovered an amusement park made entirely of chocolate.

"Whatever you say, Harry," George said, sliding back onto his Cleansweep.

"Quite generous of you, mate," Fred said.

Daniyel turned to walk toward the broom shed as Michael joined their gathering.

"Can you play Chaser instead, Mike?" Ginny asked.

"Chaser?" He sounded disgruntled. "But I'm excellent at Beater."

"Well Fred and George are going to do it. C'mon, please…"

Daniyel lost track of their conversation as the wind picked up, amplifying the distance between them. He grabbed a somewhat respectable-looking Shooting Star from the broom shed and walked back toward the group, rubbing his hands together for warmth. He ruefully wondered if maybe he should have waited to suggest this until the spring, but for all he knew, he'd be back home by then.

When he rejoined the group, everyone seemed quite keen to get started, even Michael Corner, who still looked a bit cross at having to play Chaser. They shot up into the air, Ginny gripping the Quaffle excitedly. Daniyel followed them, the old broomstick lurching unsteadily beneath him. He shook his head slightly, wondering how on earth anyone could reasonably play Quidditch on one of these.

It turned out not to matter in the slightest; however, since he quickly realized he was a fairly terrible Chaser – which was more or less what he had expected. Trying to exert a reasonable amount of control over the Shooting Star whilst battling against the overbearing wind and simultaneously keeping the Quaffle in play seemed to be just outside the scope of his newfound Quidditch abilities.

"Wow, Harry, you're really bad at this," Ginny remarked after he missed catching the Quaffle for the fifth time, and nearly crashed the Shooting Star into the pitch on his way to retrieve it. She had used the opportunity to scoop it out of the air, and was now hovering before him, grinning.

"Yeah, well, this broom's terrible!" he said feebly, raising his voice so as to be heard over the never-ceasing wind.

"Right," she said, grinning all the more, and took off in an absolute blur of color as she streaked toward Ron with the Quaffle under her arm. Michael attempted to catch up to her but she outstripped him easily. Fred – who had also chosen to play Chaser for Ginny's benefit and was playing on Daniyel's team – darted in front of her, and she swerved around him easily and then flung the Quaffle at Ron's middle hoop. Ron lunged for it and managed to just barely knock it off course with his fingertips. Ginny looked a tad disappointed and chased after the red ball as it tumbled down to the pitch.

Daniyel hung back, wondering if Fred might do better on his own, and sincerely hoping Ron would not tell Harry all about this the next time they spoke. As he watched, Michael – who was doing only _slightly_ better than he was – drew up beside Ginny. She tossed him the Quaffle, and it flew right through his outstretched hands and tumbled back down. Michael flushed furiously and chased after it while Ginny hovered nearby. He rose back to playing height, clutching the ball, and abruptly flung it back at her with a wholly unnecessary amount of force. Seemingly taken aback, she reached out to grab it, but before she could get into position, it hit her right in the stomach.

Daniyel stared, shocked, as she slid backwards on the Firebolt, her hands still grasping at the ball. She momentarily teetered on the edge of the broom, and before he knew it, he had grabbed hold of his wand and hissed, " _Glacies!_ " and a freezing snowy wind rushed forth from behind Ginny, pushing her forward and coating her with snow. The wind blew across the length of the pitch, depositing snow on all of them, and Ginny zoomed toward the ground, where she landed softly and slid off the Firebolt, clutching at her stomach. Michael rushed after her, looking somewhat stricken, with Daniyel, Ron, Fred, and George close on his heels.

"What on earth did you do that for?" Ginny gasped at Michael, as Daniyel dismounted off the Shooting Star behind the others, who had all easily outstripped him to the ground.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to–"

"You could've knocked her off her broom!" George said angrily. "How could you be so careless?"

"What's the matter with you?" Fred added.

"I didn't mean–" Michael said again. "Ginny, I _told_ you I'm a better Beater."

"So you chucked the Quaffle at me like a Bludger?" Ginny said incredulously.

"Well I thought you'd catch it, all right? I guess you're just not ready to be a Chaser, Ginny, if you can't catch–"

"Are you serious?" Ron cut in angrily. "No one could've caught that. You're supposed to pass to her. She's on _your_ team."

"Stay out of this, you three!" Ginny said hurriedly, straightening up again.

"I didn't even want to do this in the first place!" Michael said, his voice rising. "I was just helping you out, Ginny! Quidditch is a dangerous game, all right? Accidents happen! Maybe you just can't handle it."

Ginny's lips drew into such a thin line that Michael actually took a step back.

"I can handle Quidditch accidents just fine," she said, staring at him acidly.

"Well you clearly have terrible reflexes," Michael retorted, his face turning red as he glared around defiantly. Daniyel's eyebrows actually shot up into his hair as Fred, George, and Ron all let out noises of anger.

"Don't talk to my sister that way!" Ron said.

"Shut _up_ , Ron," Ginny said, her voice growing frosty as her eyes locked on Michael in a rather dangerous way.

"Yeah, _shut up, Ron,_ " Michael snapped. "Stay out of this! Ginny, I have no idea why you want to put on a show for all your brothers and Potter. Just get over it, all right? I didn't mean to knock you off. There. What do you expect me to say? And maybe you should just forget about playing. I don't think you're up for it."

"Maybe what I'm not up for," she said coldly, "is my so-called _boyfriend_ being so childish that he nearly kills me out of spite, and then throws a fit about it to boot."

For a moment, silence hung thickly around them, colder than the frigid winter air. Then...

"Fine," Michael snapped. "If you can't handle honesty, then maybe we should just forget it."

Ginny raised her eyebrows and stared at him, as if seeing him quite clearly for the first time.

"Maybe we should."

He glared at her for a second longer, then grabbed his Nimbus and stormed away, leaving angry footprints in the snow that was now falling softly and blanketing the ground in white. Ginny stared after him, her expression quite unreadable.

"Ginny…" Fred said gently.

She turned to look at them, her lips pressed tightly together.

"He's a real prat," George said. "You can do better, sis. Come here."

He stepped forward and folded his arms around her tightly. She buried her face in his shoulder and Fred and Ron stepped up and joined the hug as well. Daniyel hung back, smiling slightly at the pile-up of Weasleys. It was quite adorable.

"You're actually really good, Gin," Ron said bracingly after they broke apart. "You scored ten goals! That guy's an idiot."

"Thanks, Ron," she said dully.

"You'll definitely make the team next year, Squirt," Fred added. "Don't even worry about it."

"And honestly," George said seriously, "you got lucky. If it wasn't for that snowstorm…"

"Yeah," Ron said, glancing up at Daniyel, who shifted nervously.

"You're definitely a way better Chaser than me, Ginny!" he said quickly.

"Oh, but you're terrible," she said, her face turning up into a small smile at last.

"Yeah, Harry, you _really_ are," said Fred brightly. "Good thing you're such a good Seeker, or we might have to kick you off the team for that ghastly display today."

Daniyel laughed nervously. If _that_ happened and they both survived the fight with Voldemort, there was a very good chance that Harry might _actually_ murder him instead.

"Come on, you lot," George said. "I reckon we've been out here long enough. Let's go inside–"

"Before we get snowed in," Fred added. "C'mon, Ginny, we'll show you how to get into the kitchens."

"You _will?!_ " She grinned widely.

"Oh absolutely," George said. "We'll impart our brotherly wisdom on you, sweet sister."

Daniyel and Ron hung back to collect the brooms as Fred and George looped their arms through Ginny's and marched her back to the castle.

"Can you believe that Michael Corner?" Ron said, his expression turning sour as he looked after their retreating backs. "Poor Ginny. Mind you, she needs to choose someone better next time. If I ever see his face around her again…"

Daniyel grinned as Ron trailed off into an angry silence. It looked like Ginny and Michael were done. _Right on schedule._ At least some things were moving along exactly as they were supposed to.

"Was that you, by the way?" Ron asked, breaking into his musings. "Did you use your ice magic and keep her on her broom?"

"Oh – er – yeah, I did."

"Nice one," said Ron, grinning. "Look at you, pulling a Harry and saving my sister."

"Right," Daniyel mumbled, and they fell silent as they trudged back up to the castle, wrapped up in scarfs and cloaks, their faces bowed against the wind.

As they walked, Daniyel reflected that today had been a small win. Hopefully it would help fix whatever he might have broken – or not; clearly Ginny was talented enough, without his feeble attempts, to choose her own destiny. Still, it made him feel a little less like he was breaking the foundation of Hogwarts. Now if he could only figure out how the hell he was going to do something useful about Voldemort…

But hell, he thought, one step at a time. At least today had proved that his control over the _Glacies_ was growing, and that was most definitely worth the near frozen fingers.


	18. The Shape of Feeling

**Chapter Eighteen:**

_The Shape of Feeling_

.

Ella threw the newspaper on Harry's bed and groaned in frustration.

"This is ridiculous," she complained.

Harry picked it up and glanced at the cover: _Harry Potter Acting Trio: Real Life Heroes_. He flipped through the story as Ella flopped down into his desk chair and let it swing back and forth fervently.

"Well," he said evenly, "at least they've got him locked up."

"They're acting like we're some kind of – I dunno – superheroes," she said, rolling her eyes. "You'd think we were the Flash himself. And it's been over a week already. All we did was get mugged."

Harry, who was long used to disregarding newspaper articles about himself, shrugged and put the paper back down. "I thought you lived on, what was it, _praise and adoration_?" He grinned.

"Yeah, for stuff I actually did."

"You did actually do something," he reminded her. She shrugged.

"Yeah, maybe, but this guy was connected with five other muggings, and he put that old man – the grandpa - in the hospital. I really don't want this story to be about us. If the studio tries to get us on one more interview…"

"Right," Harry said, remembering the previous week, when the three of them had been forced to appear on _Good Morning London_ just three days after the debacle in the park.

"So tell us what happened, from the beginning," the host, Jon Hamil, had enquired, as Harry, Robert, and Ella sat side by side on a very photogenic (and incredibly uncomfortable) couch, with bright lights in their faces, as the studio audience, and by extension the whole world, looked on. "Everyone's dying to know how you three were responsible for stopping a hardened criminal."

Ella had looked straight into the camera, her expression deadpan, and said, "Well, Jon, we used magic, of course."

The audience had burst out laughing and cheering.

Harry shook his head as he dropped the newspaper back on the bed and turned to Ella, who was still sulking in his chair. "Have you been studying the books?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Oh yes, I read both."

"In full?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Uh huh."

"OK, _Hermione_ ," he said, amused, "let's see you try the Hover Charm."

He offered her his wand, but she shook her head, and said, "I'm good." Then she raised her right hand and held it out in front of her, eyes closed in concentration, and murmured, " _Volito_!" Harry watched mutely as white light gathered in her open palm. It shot out toward the discarded newspaper on the bed, which rose briefly into the air, and hovered a foot above the bed for several seconds before flopping back down. Ella lowered her hand and grinned.

"I've been practicing!"

"How did you do that?" Harry said, shocked.

"I dunno, I've kinda been able to do it ever since… in the park," she finished. "I can feel the magical energy, in the points the book described, and I've been focusing on tapping into them all last week. I've been able to do a few charms at home the last few days like this!" She grinned widely then, and Harry got the impression that she was losing control of her enthusiasm. "But you can do it too, can't you? You called your wand in the park, didn't you?"

"I did," Harry conceded, "but I'm not sure I could do it again. Dumbledore asked me to teach you, but maybe you should be teaching me…"

"What, no!" she cried, looking at him intently. "Please keep teaching me, I don't actually know what I'm – oh, you're joking. You're joking, aren't you?"

"I _am_ joking," Harry confirmed.

"Whew," she said, wiping her brow theatrically. "I'd hate it if you gave up on me just because I was better than you at magic!"

Harry grinned. Being around Ella somehow seemed to put him in a good mood and make all his other problems seem, if not insignificant, then much less pressing.

"I still want to see you do it with the wand," he said, holding it out to her again. "The magic is inside you, but the wand is a tool. It helps you focus and channel the energy."

She took the holly wand from him, her fingers brushing lightly against his hand in the process. He drew his hand back, his skin tingling lightly, and stepped out of the way as Ella tried the spell again. It took her several attempts, but before long, the newspaper was hovering at her command, staying up in the air for slightly longer than her wandless magic had allowed. Harry watched as she gracefully lowered her arm back down, the newspaper dropping to the bed again.

When was it, he wondered, that she had stopped reminding him of Hermione every time he saw her. And even more importantly, when was it that seeing her had started to inspire the swooping sensation in his stomach that he could not quite explain?

"How did I do?" Ella asked, turning to him. When she smiled, his stomach felt as if he had missed a step on the stairs.

"Brilliant," he said truthfully. "You're really good at this. Better than I was."

When Ella finally went home later that evening, beaming with her accomplishments, Harry dropped tiredly onto the bed. The past week and a half had been exhaustingly full. Between talks with the police, the studio, and Daniyel's agent; appearances with Ella and Robert; constant reassurances to Daniyel's parents that he would not wander into the park again – or seemingly anywhere at all that wasn't listed out on his schedule; daily chats with Sirius, in which he was grilled about his dreams (of which he had had two), and the state of his well-being; and finally hours spent first teaching Ella, and then practicing on his own, had resulted in barely enough time for him to think, let alone process what had happened.

He stared up at the ceiling as his exhausted mind whirled into overdrive, trying to sort through everything that he had been doing his best to avoid. Putting the drug-addled mugger who had attacked them aside, Harry was still beset by dreams in the night, from which he awoke sweating, his breathing ragged, and his scar throbbing harshly against his skin.

True to Dumbledore's word, the Dream Guard Charm had prevented the pain from reaching out into the waking world and overtaking him, but he was certain that it was also to blame for the fuzzy quality his last two dreams had taken on, as if he were seeing them through a badly-tuned antenna. In the last dream, he had barely made out Voldemort standing in a windowless stone room lit by torches, a dark-haired women kneeling before him.

"It will be done, my Lord," she had said reverently, her voice a broken echo.

"Very well," Voldemort had said in a quiet hiss, as Nagini slithered into view and curled around his thin form. "Leave me now."

Harry had been thrown back into reality, catching just a glimpse of the woman as she raised her pale face to Voldemort, emotion flickering in her dark, hooded eyes. He had felt an elusive stab of familiarity as he looked into her eyes, but her features, blurred in the dim light, were unfamiliar.

He had relayed the dream to Sirius in as much detail as he could muster; his godfather's face a warring mask of curiosity and concern.

"Are you _sure_ the Dream Guard Charm is helping?" Sirius had pressed him, after he had finished. "I know you want to help, Harry, but I don't want you to put yourself at risk. Dumbledore can teach you something to get rid of the dreams entirely."

"No, I'm perfectly fine!" Harry had said, frustration creeping into his voice. "This is the only thing I can do, Sirius. And they've been a lot better since."

He had refrained from mentioning his constantly aching scar, or the incident in the park with Ella and Robert – Sirius's relentless concern was beginning to weigh on his shoulders like a perpetual dark cloud, and Harry wanted nothing more than to diffuse it. Sirius and Dumbledore had to focus on finding Voldemort and training Daniyel, and his scar was of little consequence.

Sirius had finally let him go after making Harry swear that he would report anything out of the ordinary, and Harry had gone to bed, feeling guilty for a promise broken before it was even made, and his thoughts had drifted, for the umpteenth time, to Ella – which was a whole other mess he didn't want to consider.

The truth was, no matter what feelings he had discovered he felt for Ella, Harry was acutely aware that there was no possible way that they could ever play out. Even though he could not quite see the finish line, his time here was fleeting – marked by an invisible clock. Every second spent here brought him closer to that inevitable moment when Daniyel would face Voldemort, Dumbledore would bring him back and, regardless of what came after, at that moment he would have to say goodbye to both Ella and Robert.

The thought of leaving his new friends was somewhat painful – they had become rather dear to Harry – and he did not like to dwell on that moment, which was surely drawing nearer. But the one thing he could say with some certainty was that developing feelings for someone he would soon be forced to leave, and would never see again, was definitely a stupid idea.

He flashed back to the present as he stared up at the ceiling, trying to force his thoughts away from Ella's smile, and to focus instead on Voldemort, or the spells he should practice tomorrow, or – in a last-ditch effort – on Cho Chang, but the Ravenclaw Seeker no longer held his interest.

Just then, the cell phone vibrated on his bedside table. Harry glanced over to see a text from Robert: _Hey Harry did you see Tim is having the annual cast party Saturday do you want to go?_

Before Harry could respond, a message from Ella popped up as well: _Party at Tims sat? Yes?!_

Harry contemplated the messages curiously as Ella sent through a follow-up: _Its hp theme lol. Tim is a dork u need 2 come_

Harry keyed in a brief _Ok_ , sent it to both of them, and put the phone back down. It buzzed again. He glanced over.

Ella: _Great!_

As he sank back into the bed and touched his wand to his temple to cast the Dream Guard Charm, Harry wondered if this was exactly the kind of distraction he needed. He had never been to a Muggle party before, after all, and he supposed Ron would think he was a right git if he didn't make the most of it.

* * *

Three nights later, as Harry stood outside Tim's mansion-sized house, clad in his Hogwarts robes while sweating in the August air, and listened to the music pouring out of all the windows as if the house was too small to contain it, he wondered if it was too late for second thoughts.

"Ready?" Robert asked, his hand on the door. He was dressed in a red Quidditch t-shirt and a Gryffindor cap.

"Absolutely!" Ella said brightly, as she smoothed her own robes.

Before Robert could push at the door it swung open, and Tim appeared on the threshold, a summer Slytherin scarf wrapped around his neck and a wand held in one hand. He grinned widely when he saw them.

"Ah, Potter, Weasley, Granger, our heroes, come on in!" he said brightly. "It's your lucky night, Granger, we're allowing Mudbloods tonight – assuming they're ready and willing to become vigilantes and dodge bullets as well as magic spells, of course."

Ella rolled her eyes and strode past him into the foyer. "Nice wand, _Draco_. Did you nick it from set? I sure wouldn't want to be you when Props find out."

"Now, now, Granger," Tim said, "the wand chooses the wizard. Don't you worry your little heart out, I'll bring it back next week."

Harry and Robert followed Ella into the house, where, mercifully, the air conditioning was on full blast, and Tim led them to a large sitting room, where a table full of food and drinks was set up along one wall. The room was full of people, some of whom Harry recognized from set, though a lot of faces looked familiar simply from around Hogwarts. They were dressed mostly in variations of the Hogwarts uniform, or in other house-specific attire, and Harry had the distinct impression of being back at one of Gryffindor's post-Quidditch parties, with the exception of the whole school being present.

"Pretty epic," Robert said, looking around as they walked towards the refreshments.

Tim reached the table first and poured them all cups from a punchbowl in the center of the table.

"Don't you think," Ella called loudly, fighting to make herself heard over the music as she accepted her drink, "that it's just a liiiittle bit lame to have a Harry Potter themed party for the cast of Harry Potter?"

"No," Tim called back, shoving cups at Harry and Robert in turn, "I think it's brilliant! And you do too, admit it! Now, fancy a dance, Granger?" He indicated the other side of the room with his head, where a large number of people were dancing boisterously to the music, which thumped throughout the house.

"Nah, I'm good."

Tim struck a hand over his heart, as if she had mortally wounded him, then grinned, mouthed, "Next time!" and melted into the teeming mass of bodies around them. Harry kept his face even and took a sip of his drink.

"Ugh – what is this?" he said, swallowing the bizarre concoction. It burned his throat on the way down.

"I believe this is what they call Jungle Juice," Robert said wisely. Harry gave him a blank look. "Er – a mixture of fruit punch, orange juice, pineapple juice, pink lemonade, a bunch of other garbage… rum."

"Rum? There's alcohol in this?"

"Well it ain't Butterbeer," Robert said, an amused smile on his face. He took a sip of his own drink and shuddered. "Shit, this stuff's terrible. Really, it _should_ be Butterbeer – HP theme and all."

Harry lowered his cup and glanced over at Ella, who was hovering over the table, picking at a bowl of chips.

Just then a group of girls materialized around Harry and Robert.

"Robert!" one of them said brightly. She was dressed in a Ravenclaw scarf and vest, and Harry recognized her face from Hogwarts, though he couldn't begin to guess at her name. "Is it true you saved Daniyel and Ella from the man in the park?"

"I heard you tackled him to the ground!" a short Hufflepuff chimed in.

Another Hufflepuff shot a quick smile at Harry before rounding on Robert. "Is that where he hit you?"

"Er–" Robert said awkwardly, "yes, I suppose so."

"So brave!" a girl with a Gryffindor scarf chimed in.

"Were you scared?" the first Ravenclaw asked Harry.

"Yes," he said honestly.

"I don't know what I would've done," the first Hufflepuff added.

Ella reappeared beside them and the girls turned to her.

"Oh my gosh, Ella, tell us everything!"

"All right," she said, smiling tolerantly at them, "but it really wasn't a big deal, you know. The police caught him, not us – really, they're the heroes. It was just a bit terrifying before they showed up…"

She drifted off, the girls following her, and Robert and Harry were left alone by the refreshments again.

"Well she's off," Robert said, as if he had expected no less. "Shall we go mingle?"

"All right," Harry agreed. This whole thing was starting to remind him of the Yule Ball, which definitely hadn't made it onto his Top Ten Evenings at Hogwarts list.

He followed Robert through various rooms of the house, making small talk with several people, and snacking on crab cakes and pieces of cheese. He kept an eye out for Ella as they walked, and eventually spotted her and the group of girls in the middle of the dance floor. Her robes were flying wildly about her as she hopped in time to the music. Harry paused, watching her, as her hair swirled across her face, which was upturned into a blithe smile. As he looked on, Michael Hugh – who he knew as Neville – appeared beside her, and Ella turned to him, laughing. She reached out and touched his shoulder briefly, and they melted into the swarming mass of the dancing crowd.

Harry took a big gulp of his drink and turned away, wondering briefly if this was how Ron had felt at the Yule Ball last year – if so, it was a decidedly shitty feeling. However, he was determined not to repeat Ron's mistakes with Hermione, so he drifted out of the room, avoiding several conversations, and eventually found himself in Tim's backyard garden, which was still sweltering hot in the evening air; but mercifully empty for it. The music was faintly quieter outside, and Harry wandered through the beautifully landscaped hedges, enjoying the slight wind that blew across his face.

It was somewhat lonely, he reflected, to be part of a world that he couldn't really touch. Perhaps the Hogwarts ghosts felt a bit like this; he made a mental note to ask Nearly Headless Nick about it when he got back to Hogwarts – _if_ he ever got back to Hogwarts, that is. There was always the very good possibility that Voldemort would murder him when they next met. Considering how their last few battles had gone, Harry was never sure how he felt about his odds. There was always a chance though… and that was something.

He lost track of time as he wandered through the garden, and as he sat on a bench sometime later, his outer layer of robes cast aside in the summer heat, he heard soft footsteps behind him. Harry turned around and was surprised to see Ella standing behind him in the near darkness.

"Harry," she said softly, "there you are. We've been looking for you."

"Sorry, I've been out here," he said, rising to meet her. He felt very slightly off-balance and wondered if it was the Jungle Juice, and if maybe he shouldn't have touched it. Ella stepped closer, and in the dim light, he could just make out her face; which looked pale and drawn.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. "Did something happen?"

"No, not really," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "It's just that everyone wants to talk about the – the man in the park. And they're all so impressed by it, and they want to hear all the details, like it's a piece of set gossip. But it was really scary, Harry. For a second there, when he shot at us, I thought we were done for." She took a steadying breath. "I've been distracting myself with everything, you know, magic, and practice, and this party… but when I go to sleep, I can still hear the gun going off. I can still see him jumping at Rob."

She hung her head, as if ashamed, and Harry stood there wondering how he could have missed it. He was no stranger to trauma and the effects it left behind. But she had hid it so well, with her smiles, and her enthusiasm. He could see through it all now, as if she were hiding behind a glass mask that had started to crack at the edges.

Before he quite knew what he was doing, he closed the gap between them and reached out, wrapping his arms around her. He tried to fold every true hug he had ever felt into the motion, and Ella relaxed into his arms. She looked up at him, her brown eyes slightly glistening with tears unshed, and as they locked eyes, Harry found himself leaning down, slightly, until his lips touched hers.

His heart beat rapidly in his chest, and when their lips touched, for a second, he felt as if he were finally home, and all was right with the world. Her lips parted as she returned the kiss, and Harry knew that he would regret this later, that it was a mistake, that it was probably only the Jungle Juice that had allowed him to lower his inhibitions enough to find the courage to do this stupid thing; but at that moment all that mattered was the soft touch of her lips upon his own, and her arms, which had encircled him, which had pulled him closer, until for a moment they had melted into each other – until they were one shape in the night.

They broke apart together, their eyes locked in a silent gaze, neither willing to shatter the serenity of the moment. Ella reached out and gently clasped his hand.

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured, breaking the spell. "I didn't mean…."

"No," she said softly, "please, don't apologize. I–"

She squeezed her hand tightly around his, and then said quietly, "The truth is I really do like you, Harry…"

His heart hammered in his ears as she spoke, and despite his misgivings, he allowed his face to break into a grin.

"You're brilliant, Ella," he said, the smile seeping into his voice. "You're truly amazing." Her hand was soft around his, and for a second, he allowed the warmness in his chest to grow, the butterflies in his stomach to leap though his whole being.

He raised his free hand to her face and brushed her hair back, trailing his fingers through her long curls until they brushed the Gryffindor insignia upon her robes – and then reality set in with a resounding crash, and the magic of the moment shattered.

He lowered his arm, and she let go of his hand, sensing that the moment had passed.

"We can't," Harry said softly.

"I know."

It broke him to hear her say it.

"I'm going back to Hogwarts, when this is over."

"I know," she repeated.

"Voldemort will probably do me in," he said, casting around for something matter-of-fact to say.

"Shut up," she said, "you stupid prat."

They both fell silent, gazing at each other again. "It's OK," Ella said finally, her mouth curving into a small smile. "This is fine. Good chat. No, really – I'm happy we have this, at least..."

She leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek; then she turned and walked back toward the house, her arms folded tightly across her chest, until she was swallowed by the darkness of the night.


	19. Unbroken

**Chapter Nineteen:**

_Unbroken_

.

The street was a tangle of shadows – blacks, darks, and greys; which melted into each other impalpably. Meager streetlights, old and neglected, cast patches of light that cut feebly through the blackness. The night was alive with the hissing of the lamps; with faint shouts; with muffled crying somewhere in the distance. It was a derelict street – old and abandoned, like its few occupants – and home to all the things that fed on darkness.

His cloak swirled around him as he walked silently through the night, sliding in and out of shadows, his dark shape vanishing and reappearing from within the cover of darkest night, until he reached the ingress he had been searching for. With a wave of his wand, so small it was almost imperceptible, and the dimmest flash of light that had dispersed almost before it appeared, he pushed softly at the door and slipped over the threshold.

He found himself in a dim foyer lit with the flickering glow of the stubs of several candles, which cast harsh growing shadows on the walls. The silence inside the house was absolute. He made his way through the room, down a long passage, and into another room toward the back of the house. There were no candles here, so he lit his wand with another indiscernible wave and cast the light around the room, its beam landing on dusty bits of worn furniture, a tattered carpet, and the spines of countless books, warped with age.

He was alone. The first to arrive then. And yet… he could not shake the feeling that something was amiss. The abandoned candles. He turned in a slow circle, raising his wand again, scouring every inch of the room. Empty. There was nothing. It would not do to walk away without just cause. It would destroy everything he had been working for. And yet, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, as if in warning. He turned around again and took a deliberate step toward the door when the soft rustle of robes assaulted his ears. He stepped back, his face a mask beneath his hood, his dark eyes sweeping over the five hooded figures that had appeared before him.

"Severus," one of them hissed, drawing closer. Her voice was barely more than a rasp.

"Bellatrix, is that you?" he sneered. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She laughed, softly at first, and then louder, until the whole room trembled with the sound of it. The shapes behind her twitched in agitation, their robes rustling once more.

"I'm afraid this is the end, Severus," she whispered, when the laughter had faded. She stepped closer to him.

"What is this?" Snape spat. "I am here at the Dark Lord's request. I have information."

"Information," the man beside her said with a jeer, and Snape recognized the drawl of Lucius Malfoy, "we have no use for. Information… that we all but _provided_ for you. You are here because the Dark Lord wanted it so."

Snape felt a cold bead of sweat on the back of his neck. He tightened his grip on his wand and raised it slightly, ready to strike.

"You are mistaken," he said. Calmly. Disdainfully. "I have been acting on the Dark Lord's behalf, nothing more. Take me to him, and you will see how invaluable what I have uncovered proves to be."

"There will be no need for that," the woman hissed. "The Dark Lord knows what you are."

Without warning, Snape felt the full force of her mind wash over him. She had not even raised her wand. He forced his defenses into place to block the mental assault, but the strength of her power, so raw and unyielding – and yet incredibly controlled, shot through his awareness with overpowering intensity. For a second, he was laid bare before her, his mind unable to maintain a fragment of resistance. When he was finally able to push her out, his vision clearing, and she stepped back, laughing once more, the damage had been done. When she spoke again, her voice was a mocking jeer.

"Oh, Severus. You still love the Mudblood? After all this time?"

Before he could gather himself or speak, Malfoy hit him with the Cruciatus. The pain was indescribable. He lost himself for a moment, as every inch of his body burned as if it had been set aflame, and Malfoy's cold, cruel laugh echoed in his ears. He couldn't see. His eyes rolled back into his head, and somewhere, in the depths of his mind, her face flooded his vision. _Lily._

" _Confringo_!" he choked out.

The room exploded.

In a fury of color and sound, heat and fire washed over them, and smoke and dust obscured everything. Books tumbled wildly off the shelves, one of them slamming into his head. He barely felt it. There were cries of pain and surprise, and the stabbing pressure of the Cruciatus Curse diminished. He could think again.

He darted behind the tattered remains of an armchair, stuck out his wand and aimed two back-to-back Stunning Spells into the huddle of Death Eaters. Judging by the panicked yells and ensuing bang, he had hit at least one.

He crouched down behind the chair, momentarily winded, his mind working furiously. Where had he allowed the seed of doubt to grow? _And when?_ He had to get back to Hogwarts – to Dumbledore.

There was a loud thud and the chair shuddered violently, and before he could so much as move, his side exploded in pain. He glanced down to see a sharp metallic object protruding from the chair, the edge of it buried in his flank. He let out a sharp hiss and jabbed his wand at the metal spear, freeing himself. Blood pooled on his robes. He stumbled back, raising his wand again.

" _Sectumsempra!_ "

There was an anguished scream from the other side of the room, and a bright flash of purple shot back at him almost immediately. He threw up a Shield Charm, and the spell bounced off it and hit the bookcase, which toppled over with a crash. The remaining books slid all over the floor. The fire was growing wilder; the smoke choking them all. Still holding the Shield Charm around himself, he pushed ahead, forcing his way through them and towards the door. Every step was agony. The shield drained away at his remaining strength.

One of the Death Eaters was on the floor, unconscious; another was kneeling, soaked in blood. The other three attacked him as he ran, his shield barely holding off their spells. He whirled around as he neared the door, gathered up his strength, and snarled, " _Expulso_!" The shield collapsed, his own magic shattering it as his spell rushed at them, and in a flash of blue light the Death Eaters were blasted off their feet and thrown into the far wall. The room shuddered from the impact. The blowback pushed him out into the passage, and he staggered and fell to his knees, breathing heavily, choking on smoke. He stumbled back up, his vision momentarily darkening, and pushed ahead, gripping the wall with one hand.

There was an anguished shriek behind him, and cords wrapped around his feet. He fell again, his head banging hard on the floor. Before he could draw breath, he was pitched forward several feet, until he found himself on his back, squinting up at her dark shape. She attacked, gouging several long gashes across his torso.

He focused some of the last of his energy and spat, " _Incendio!_ " and a blast of fire shot at her. She leapt aside, and he cried, " _Relashio!"_ and the cords around his feet vanished. He stumbled back up, aimed his wand at her, and snarled, " _Avada Kedavra!_ " but he didn't have the energy to see it through. She was thrown back, momentarily dazed, but very much alive; and to make it worse, he could hear shouts and footsteps behind her – the others were coming. He sagged in weariness, his head spinning. If he didn't get out now, this would likely be his last mission for Dumbledore. But death was always there, waiting, and he wasn't ready to end it all here. Not yet.

He rushed down the passage, back into the foyer, and burst out into the night as their shouts grew more urgent behind him. The noises of the street assaulted him at once with the cold winter air, and the fire burst free of the house, burning brightly as it fed on the night. He stepped into a turn, thinking of Hogwarts, and then he heard a triumphant yell and something hit his chest like a wrecking ball. He staggered backwards, his concentration broken. She was on him then, her wand at his throat.

"I'm sorry, Severus," she whispered, "but this is the end."

" _Ventus!_ " he hissed, and the sudden gust of wind threw her off him, ripping back her hood. He stared. Her face, harshly illuminated in the orange glow of the flames, made his blood run cold.

_It couldn't be._

She raised her wand.

He stumbled into a turn again, driven by a fresh wave of determination, and she shrieked in rage as he started to Disapparate. A hot pain lanced across his hand and he heard a resounding crack, but the dilapidated street was already fading around him. Within seconds, the sounds of battle were gone, and he collapsed onto soft ground, pain washing over him once more. He was quite alone.

He stumbled up, forcing the pain away – locking it up behind a wall in his mind. His wand had cracked nearly in half, and blood dripped softly onto the wood from his torn fingers. He looked blearily at the unfamiliar landscape. It was dark. Snow covered the ground like a blanket. Was Hogwarts in the distance? Had he overshot the spell? Had she thrown him off course?

He had… to get… to Dumbledore.

He held out his broken wand in a shaking palm, visualizing the castle in his mind, and it rocked, very slowly, to the right.

He took an agonizing step.

* * *

A glacial wind gusted harshly about them as they trudged through the snow down the icy path to Hogsmeade. Daniyel pulled his scarf tightly around his face as he squinted at the figures of Fred and George, who were braving the cold some fifty feet ahead. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny stumbled along beside him; Tonks and Arabella brought up the rear, wands held tightly in hand.

"D'you think maybe we should've just stayed in the castle?" Ron grumbled, as he rubbed his hands together for warmth. "Remind me why we're doing this again?"

"Because, Ron," Hermione said patiently, "it's important to show that we're not afraid, and that we're supporting the people of Hogsmeade after what happened last time. It sends a powerful message."

"If we're not afraid, why do we have two Aurors tailing us?" Ron said in a bare whisper.

" _Because_ , Ron," Ginny said, imitating Hermione's patient tone, "Dumbledore's not bloody stupid."

"It'll be all right," Daniyel said, slightly more confidently than he felt. "Hermione's right, this is important. It's why Dumbledore's allowing visits to Hogsmeade again."

When they finally reached the snowy village, Daniyel stopped and looked around the high street, drawing in a heavy breath. The shattered storefronts had been repaired. The Three Broomsticks was glowing warmly in the dim February light. Aside from a memorial that had been erected in the middle of the village square, and a quietness that permeated the snowy street, Hogsmeade looked as if it had escaped the war untouched.

Hermione turned and walked toward the memorial, and they followed silently in her wake. It consisted of two slender wings, coated in snow, which rose high over the square, as if shielding the village from danger. Daniyel brushed a hand against it, and as the snow fell away, he was able to read the names etched into the stone. _Margaret Keen. Jamison Wright. Ottilie Fawley._

His hand froze and he looked away abruptly, unable to read the rest. He stepped back, his face scrunched up in pain, as Hermione raised her wand and magicked a bouquet of flowers into being at the base of the wings. Ginny leaned into Hermione, and Ron clasped her hand briefly as the three of them stood by the memorial in silence. Daniyel turned away, unable to keep looking, and found Tonks and Arabella standing behind him.

"You all right, Harry?" Arabella asked softly. Up close, Daniyel could see that her face was pale and weary.

"Yeah," Daniyel said, his voice ragged. "I remember that girl. I'd been hoping she was OK."

"I'm so sorry," Arabella said, her voice thick with compassion. "War is a hard thing. I wish you didn't have to know it."

"I wish _she_ hadn't had to," Daniyel said, thinking of Ottie. He could still remember her wings, flapping wildly in the dim light of the pub.

Arabella nodded and squeezed his shoulder, and for a moment Daniyel wondered if she was remembering Harry as the young boy she used to watch on occasion; when she had brought out the cat albums to keep him occupied, knowing even then that if she didn't make their time together miserable, the Dursleys would not send him over again.

"Thank you," he said quietly, "for everything, Mrs. Figg. Thank you for watching me all those times."

"Anytime," she said with a small smile. "And you can call me Arabella, Harry," I'm not actually an old lady, you know."

"Right, of course."

He heard Ron call his name and looked up to see the three of them walking towards him. Ron's face was pale and uncharacteristically serious.

"Should we go in?" he suggested, nodding his head at the Three Broomsticks.

"All right," Daniyel said, though he wasn't sure he really wanted to. Together they walked into the pub, Arabella and Tonks trailing behind them.

The Three Broomsticks was bright and warm, and about half full, which was moderately empty for a Hogwarts weekend. Daniyel looked around slowly, trying to block out the memories of their last visit. Fred and George were sitting at a table in the corner, drinking Butterbeers with Lee Jordan. Madam Rosmerta approached them as they hovered in the doorway.

"Mr. Potter," she said quietly, "Mr. Weasley. I'm so glad you came today. I've been wanting to thank you for everything you did on Halloween."

Daniyel nodded silently, unsure how to respond. Ever since the incident in Hogsmeade, he had spent a lot of his waking time wondering if he could have done more. Ron seemed to be thinking along the same lines, and barely reacted when she thanked them, but Madam Rosmerta, who seemed to understand completely, led them to a table and poured them all a round of drinks on the house. Then she retreated to the bar to chat with Tonks and Arabella, leaving them alone with their tankards.

"You really saved a lot of people here, you know?" Ginny said, looking from Ron to Daniyel as they sipped their Butterbeers in silence. "I know you couldn't save everyone, but it _did_ make a difference you were here."

"If I recall correctly, you told us we were bloody idiots at the time," Ron reminded her with a small grin.

She shrugged. "You _are_ bloody idiots. Stupid and irresponsible, both of you. But you still did the right thing. Even Hermione admits it."

"This is true," Hermione confirmed, glancing up at them. "You did the best you could. What happened to the people on that monument… it's not your fault. It's OK to forgive yourselves for that."

Daniyel shot her a small smile and nodded in assent, but he knew that Ottie's name would now be a permanent marker on a list that kept both Harry and him walking forward, toward that fateful meeting with Voldemort.

The snow was coming down harder than ever as they fought their way back to the castle, the arctic wind blowing back their scarves and threating to displace the hoods of their cloaks until they were forced to hold them down with near-frozen fingers.

Daniyel squinted through the thickly falling snow as it obscured his glasses, trying to make out the turrets of Hogwarts in the distance. He let his mind drift, imagining the warmness of the fire in the Gryffindor common room, when Hermione froze suddenly in front of him and he nearly walked into her.

"Oh!" she gasped, staring at something on the path ahead. Daniyel whipped off his glasses hurriedly while everyone else looked on, and felt his heart catch in his throat. A dark shape was sprawled across the ground several feet ahead, half buried in snow.

"Stay here!" Tonks called quickly over her shoulder as she ran ahead. They stood still, watching anxiously as she knelt down beside the figure while Arabella spun around, wand raised, checking their surroundings. Daniyel looked around with her, but all he could see was snow.

"Arabella!" Tonks called in a strangled voice. "Oh Merlin. _Hurry!_ "

Daniyel saw Arabella's face pale perceptibly as she took off towards Tonks. Daniyel stumbled after her, with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny close behind. He froze, shock coursing through him – the fallen man was Severus Snape.

He lay unmoving, his eyes closed. His face was bruised and deathly white, and coated in blood, which also stained his tattered robes. His broken wand was half buried in snow beside his limp, bloody fingers.

"Severus!" Arabella gasped, dropping to her knees beside him. She reached for his neck, trying to feel a pulse.

"He's – he's still alive," Tonks said hurriedly, her voice shaking, and Arabella nodded and pulled her hand away, her lips pressed together tightly.

Daniyel glanced at Ron and Hermione, who looked back at him, eyes wide.

"Voldemort?" Hermione breathed. Ginny stared down at Snape, her face white. Hermione squeezed her arm.

Snape's eyes shot open suddenly and darted around, seemingly trying to focus on his surroundings. Tonks and Arabella leaned in closer.

"Severus?" Arabella said urgently. "Can you hear me?"

Snape's dark eyes swept past her and to each of them in turn. His lips moved, tried to form words, but no audible sound escaped. His eyes were wide, staring at them all in a frenzied panic that Daniyel could never have imagined in Snape's cold emotionless face; he wasn't entirely sure that the man was aware of where he was, or who they were. Arabella reached out, slowly, and he raised one trembling hand and grasped weakly her sleeve.

"We need to get him back to the castle!" Tonks cried, jumping back up. Arabella lifted her wand and swept it over Snape's limp form. A soft blue light, barely visible in the bright white of the snow, hovered over him as she moved her hand.

"Three broken ribs," she said, her voice in a state of forced calm, "internal bleeding. Many other injuries – I'm not sure we should just move him, Dora, it might cause more damage. We need to get help. _Now!_ " she added in a commanding bark when Tonks didn't move. "Run back to the castle and get Pomfrey and Dumbledore. Send a Patronus ahead. And take this lot back with you. I'll stay with him and keep him as comfortable as I can."

"But–" Tonks began, staring at Snape with terrified eyes.

"Dora!" Arabella cried, her voice rising, "Stop wasting time! Go, _hurry_! Take it as a command, if you must."

She raised her wand again and swept it over Snape once more. Daniyel felt the heat blasting out of it as it wafted past him. The snow began to steam as it melted. Snape's hand had fallen back to the ground. Tonks tore her eyes away and spun in the direction of Hogwarts. She raised her wand and a silver hare burst out of it and shot off toward the castle.

"C'mon!" she called sharply, taking off down the snow-covered road, and Daniyel, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny abruptly jolted into action and tore down the path after her.

Daniyel glanced over his shoulder as he ran. He could just make out Arabella leaning over Snape, melting the snow around him in a wide circle. He wasn't sure if it was a trick of the light, but he thought he could see her shoulders shaking slightly as she reached toward him and clasped his hand.


	20. Between the Lines

**Chapter Twenty:**

_Between the Lines_

.

Daniyel, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny stood huddled in a corner of the hospital wing, the snow from their cloaks melting into a puddle at their feet. Madam Pomfrey was bustling around Snape's bed as Tonks and Arabella stood out of her way, looking on as she attended to the fallen man.

"What has happened?"

Daniyel looked over to see Dumbledore hurriedly entering the ward. He gazed at Snape, his face grave.

"We found him along the path," Tonks said quietly to Dumbledore as he drew nearer. "He hasn't said a word. Unless…?" She turned to Arabella.

"He's been unconscious since you left." Arabella exhaled heavily, shaking her head. "I did all I could to keep him warm, but…" She trailed off, glancing at Madam Pomfrey.

"He's in a right state," Madam Pomfrey said, running her wand over Snape's prone form as she spoke. "He's alive, but only just. He's been hit with quite a few curses; his body is shutting down in response." She lifted one of his eyelids, peering into his dark, unseeing eyes. "There might be damage to his mind as well. I don't know what I can…" She broke off and hurried towards the back of the ward, where a wall was well stocked with potions, and started going through the bottles.

Dumbledore glanced around, his expression solemn, and turned to Tonks and Arabella. "We must meet immediately. Reach out to the others who are easily available, then come to my office. Make sure you find Minerva, Remus, and Sirius," he added, lowering his voice.

He swept out of the hospital wing, glancing at Daniyel, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny on his way past. "It would be best if you returned to your common room," he told them, not unkindly. "I understand you're invested, but there's not much you can do here now."

"He's right, we should go," Hermione said when Dumbledore had left the ward. "Madam Pomfrey needs to concentrate. We're just in the way…"

"Right," Ron said, turning to follow her.

Daniyel glanced back at Snape one last time. Tonks and Arabella were still standing beside his bed, both looking haggard. As Daniyel watched, Tonks laid a hand on Arabella's shoulder, inclined her head towards hers, and murmured something quietly into her ear. Arabella nodded glumly and looked down, and then the pair of them turned and headed towards the door as Madam Pomfrey approached Snape again, a blue vial of potion in hand. Arabella glanced back once more as Pomfrey leaned over him with the potion, but Tonks grabbed her arm and pulled her along. Daniyel followed them out the door, where he rejoined Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, who were waiting for him, and together they set off for the Gryffindor common room, the fate of Severus Snape heavy on their minds.

* * *

"He's been asleep ever since they brought him back," Sirius said, looking around at each of them in turn.

He, Ron, Hermione, and Daniyel were seated around the fire in Sirius's quarters, which were hidden in a remote corner of West Tower, several floors beneath the Owlery.

"He was on a mission for Dumbledore," Sirius continued. "We're not sure what went wrong."

"Do you think Voldemort attacked him?" Hermione pondered.

"We can't really say. Obviously, we hope this isn't the case, but it does seem likely…" Sirius trailed off, his face incredibly grim. Daniyel paused to consider the implications.

"You're not a big fan of his, are you, Sirius?" he asked.

"You could say that," Sirius said with a slight scowl. "But the man's working for the Order, after all. We're all on the same side here."

"Are we?" Ron grumbled.

"Voldemort must know," Hermione breathed, ignoring him. "That he's working for Dumbledore, I mean. Why else would he attack him?"

"We don't know that he did," Sirius repeated. "But if that _is_ what happened, then it's likely his cover's blown. Either way, it's bad news for us." He scowled. "I don't want anyone else to die on our watch. Not even Snape."

"Isn't Pomfrey able to heal him and wake him up?" Daniyel asked. "I mean it's been two days. Don't you have spells for this kind of thing?"

"It's not that simple, unfortunately," Sirius said, looking at Daniyel seriously. "You can't just undo magical damage… _not_ _even with magic_."

Daniyel nodded thoughtfully, recalling half-forgotten words Fudge had once spoken – or would maybe speak someday soon. _The other side can do magic too._

"But, Sirius," Hermione pressed, "if Snape's cover's been blown, aren't you concerned that Voldemort may have information about the Order? Did Snape know about Daniyel?"

"No," Sirius said quickly. "Dumbledore's been keeping that information under lock and key. It's hard to say what Voldemort may or may not know about the Order considering the present situation, so we'll have to proceed extremely carefully from here on out, but this won't affect the plan, Daniyel. All you can do is keep training with Remus and let us work this out. Hopefully Snape will wake up soon and things will become clearer."

As Daniyel, Ron, and Hermione walked back to Gryffindor Tower some time later, Hermione, who had been uncharacteristically silent as they walked down the echoing corridors, abruptly grabbed both of their arms and drew them into an empty classroom. She shut the door with a soft snap and looked at them significantly as she leaned against it.

"What?" Ron said, raising his eyebrows at her. "Spotted another entrance to the library, have you?"

Hermione ignored him, directing her question at Daniyel instead. "You _are_ studying hard, aren't you? With Professor Lupin."

"I definitely am," Daniyel said, nodding for emphasis. Hermione still looked worried.

"Dumbledore's the one who sent Snape in," she said, looking around at them meaningfully. "Dumbledore doesn't do anything by chance. I doubt he would have sent Snape in without planning out _everything_. If Snape's been caught… I worry that the Order's been – well – compromised."

"You think someone in the Order's working against Dumbledore?" Ron said dubiously. " _You reckon someone's turned Snape in to You-Know-Who?_ "

"I think we can't rule it out," Hermione said slowly. "It's happened before, Ron. And I don't know how Dumbledore's going to be able to predict Voldemort's movements now, if his best spy's in a coma in the hospital wing."

"It's Dumbledore," Ron said reassuringly. "He can sort out anything. He always has."

"But it doesn't mean he always will," Daniyel said abruptly. "Hermione's right. Dumbledore can make mistakes too. He can make mistakes about the people he trusts. We have to be ready for anything."

He turned away before they could question him and closed his hand firmly around his wand. Was Snape lying in the hospital wing, near dead, because he had failed to do Dumbledore's bidding? Or was this simply a stepping-stone on his path to Dumbledore's murder? Was Snape still a double agent – and if so, which side was he on? Or had someone else taken his place? And if things had really changed… if this Snape wasn't working for Voldemort at all, were they walking blindly now into a battle they wouldn't see coming?

Everything had fallen so far from the path that he had known that it was impossible to predict what could happen. The only thing he knew for certain was that the battle with Voldemort could come at any moment. And he had to be ready when it did.

And he sincerely hoped Harry was ready for it too, because even with the training and the magic, he had never felt more unprepared for anything in his life.

* * *

"Have you lot heard anything more about Snape?"

Ginny was standing by the Fat Lady's portrait, clearly waiting for them.

"He's still unconscious," Hermione said as they drew to a halt beside her. "No news."

"The whole school's talking about it," Ginny said quietly, glancing at them. "Everyone's wondering what happened to him. You three know something, don't you? He was doing something with Voldemort, _wasn't he?_ "

"Ginny, be quiet!" Ron hissed, flinching visibly.

" _Shut-up, Ron_. I'm literally the only one who gets told nothing," she snapped. "I'm only a year younger than you. It's ridiculous."

"You're my baby sister, Ginny, you–"

"Stop it, both of you!" Hermione said. She glanced around the corridor, but it was quite empty. "I'm so sorry, Ginny, we know just a little bit but we were made to swear not to discuss it. But we really don't know anything more about Snape, honest. No one seems to know what happened to him. Your guess is as good as ours."

"Right," Ginny said. She gave Hermione an uncharacteristically angry glare, glowered at Ron, and even scowled at Daniyel before disappearing down the corridor and out of sight. They stared after her.

"Don't you think maybe Ginny should know something here?" Daniyel said reasonably. "She was there when we found him, and she already knows about S-Padfoot."

"We swore to Dumbledore we wouldn't talk about the Order," Hermione said, dropping her voice to a bare whisper. "To anyone."

"That's right," Ron said. "She's too young for this stuff – she's my little sister and–"

" _Oh stop it_ , Ron," said Hermione, exasperated. "She's only a year younger than we are. I definitely see where she's coming from. But we can't say anything. We promised Dumbledore. And besides, no one _does know_ what happened to Snape."

"Other than Voldemort probably attacked him," Daniyel said. "Surely she's aware of what's happening here. She's probably entirely right with her guess. Can't we tell her that much instead of completely shutting her out?"

"I'll talk to Ginny once she calms down and sort this out," Hermione said, glancing at him curiously. "Why is this so important to you?"

"Because it sucks to be left out, Hermione. And I don't want Ginny to be mad at… at Harry," he added quietly – though he didn't want Ginny to be mad at him either, or honestly at all.

"OK," Hermione said, her eyes boring into him as if he were a petri dish she was scrutinizing though a high-powered microscope. She turned to the Fat Lady and gave her the password ("Wiggentree") and the portrait swung open.

As Daniyel clambered inside the Gryffindor common room after Ron and Hermione, he made a mental note to find Ginny later and tell her as much as he reasonably could without breaking his promise to Dumbledore. Harry had made it a point to be open and honest with Ginny after all, and Daniyel was sure that it was never too early to start. Even if everything else in Harry's world was going exponentially off script, he had to keep the beginnings of at least this relationship intact. Ron, Hermione, and then Hagrid, Dumbledore, Sirius – and finally Ginny – were Harry's cornerstone.

And he would do his best to keep it standing.

* * *

"So, you've practiced then?"

"Yes, all last night."

"And you read through the books, the theory?"

"Yes, that too."

"OK… great. Show me later?"

"OK, later. Gotta run," Ella said hurriedly as she flicked a drop of blood out of her eye, spun around, and darted across the set, her artfully tattered robes flying behind her.

Harry sighed as he watched her jog towards Robert and Carlos. She didn't look back.

It had been nearly three weeks since the stolen kiss in Tim's backyard garden, and ever since, Harry had become painfully aware that the dynamic between them was shifting. They still talked, of course, but the conversations had become more brisk – more strained – as time went on. The magic lessons they spent together became shorter, and Ella practiced by herself more often. And the moments they had spent together alone – and Harry had come to realize that there had been quite a few of them – had dwindled down to flashes few and far between. He couldn't help but notice that when she smiled at him these days, her smile did not illuminate her eyes. Not nearly the same way. As he watched her hurry away and take her place across Robert, the shift between them struck him with tremendous sadness.

He was interrupted from his reveries when Carlos called "Action!" and he glanced up to see Robert and Ella hurriedly approaching each other against the backdrop of a stone corridor.

"Ron! Where is he?! Where's Harry?" Ella panted, her voice strained.

"Dumbledore took him away, probably the hospital wing," Robert said. He reached Ella and drew to a stop beside her. His robes were stained in red.

"Ron, you're bleeding! You're hurt?"

"No, it's… it's not mine," Robert mumbled. "But, Hermione, you are!" He reached out a hand and wiped the trail of blood from her brow. "You need to see Pomfrey, come on–"

Ella threw herself at Robert and hugged him tightly, her shoulders shaking.

"H-Hermione, it's all right." Robert hugged her back.

"I thought we were all done for," Ella managed, looking up at him and wiping tears out of her eyes. "I thought... I thought…"

"We're not; everyone's fine. Harry's fine."

Robert wiped at the blood on her brow again as Ella looked up at him. Then Robert leaned down, about to kiss her… and burst out laughing.

"Sorry, I'm sorry!" he said, choking out the words as he attempted to tamp down the laughter.

"Cut!" Carlos called, half annoyed and half amused, and the boom operator and DP started laughing as well. "Let's reset and try again."

"Rooob," Ella said, still sounding very much like Hermione. She half-glanced over at Harry, who looked down quickly. "Can we just get this done?"

Marlene walked over to Ella and began re-applying the blood to her brow. Robert still looked abashed.

"I'm sorry," he said again, "I just didn't think I'd have to snog Ella so soon. I'm completely ready now. Sorry, Ella."

"Noo problem," she said.

Marlene stepped away, and Ella and Robert moved back to their original positions for take two. Harry settled down into a corner and looked on as they ran through the scene again. It was impossible; to watch them, and not think of the kiss he had shared with Ella. And despite being aware that Ella and Robert were acting – that Ella and Robert did not actually have feelings for each other – watching them kiss and imagining Ella with someone else was tearing him up inside.

He glanced down, not wanting to watch them any longer, and tried to focus instead on Snape, and on who could have been responsible for the attack. He ran through his last few dreams, trying to find a hint – a connection to the spy. Had he been right, when he suggested to Dumbledore that Snape had been made? He had said it without basis, his emotions getting the better of him. But dislike Snape as he might, he hadn't wanted this…

A loud bang, followed immediately by several screams and the smell of something burning, startled him out of his thoughts. He jumped hurriedly to his feet, his hand automatically reaching for his wand. He glanced around the set wildly and saw that one of the lights had blown out and was smoking slightly. Several people were already dashing forward with fire extinguishers, but it didn't seem to be in danger of actually catching fire. Carlos was waving his hands for calm.

"It's OK, everybody! It's not like last time. It's just a blown light!"

Harry's eyes darted to Robert and Ella, who had been locked in an embrace. As he watched, Ella, her face pale, drew a hand to her mouth, glanced over at Harry, and then took off towards her dressing room. In the commotion, nobody saw her go. Harry made to follow her then drew to a halt, wondering if it was the best idea. He stood there, hesitating, as he slid his wand back into his pocket.

_Should he go after her?_

"Harry."

He whirled around and saw Robert standing at his shoulder.

"Hey," Harry said casually. "You all right? Where'd Ella go?"

Robert ignored him. He looked at Harry thoughtfully, sizing him up. "You and Ella. What's going on there?"

"Er," Harry said, caught completely off-guard. "What?"

Robert very nearly rolled his eyes. "Ella's a great actress, but I haven't seen her look _this_ upset since the mugging in the park. Every time she looks over at you – which she's been doing all day, by the way – she looks like she's going to cry for real. And the way you've both been avoiding each other since shooting resumed is really painful to watch. What happened?"

"We may have kissed... at the party," Harry mumbled. He didn't want to lie to Robert. "Just once."

"Ah."

"But it can't happen," Harry said firmly. He sat back down and Robert settled on the floor beside him.

"Why not?"

" _Why not?_ " Harry didn't know where to start. "Because I don't actually live here, and I don't even know when that will end? Because Voldemort wants me dead. Because everything is falling apart at Hogwarts and it's the worst possible time for a... a relationship." The shape of the word itself was uncanny on his tongue, almost as if the concept was so bizarre and so unsuitable to the state of his life that he was almost surprised he didn't choke on it on the way out.

Robert glanced over at him thoughtfully. "You know," he said, "you're only fifteen, Harry. You're not exactly making a lifetime commitment here."

"So what?" Harry said quietly. "I can't just go out with her for the hell of it. What, in a week, or a month, or whenever it is that we switch back, I'm just going to say 'See ya, Ella' and disappear? I can't do that to her. It isn't right."

"It isn't fair," Robert conceded. "But she knows how things are, and so do you. She's not expecting anything more, Harry. But what _isn't_ right is the two of you walking around like you can't stand to be around each other."

"I hate it too," Harry admitted. "But I don't think she wants to talk to me."

"I doubt that's true. Look, you need her. And she needs you. And you need to be honest about your feelings. So go – talk to her. Fix it."

"I dunno, I–"

"Harry, just go," Robert said, exasperated. He shoved Harry forward slightly. "She's my friend, mate, and she's upset, and you're the one she wants to talk to, not me. So don't hurt her."

"All right," Harry conceded.

He climbed to his feet and slipped past the crew with their fire extinguishers until he found himself outside Ella's dressing room, his heart pounding very slightly faster than usual.

"Ella?" he called hesitantly, knocking on the door. She didn't respond, so after some deliberation, he pushed the door until it creaked open and slipped inside.

Ella was standing in the middle of the room, facing away from him. Her hands were balled up into fists, and she was muttering to herself.

"Focus," she whispered, her words carrying to him across the flat silence of the room. "Damn it! Control it. Focus."

Harry stepped forward, realization dawning on him. He reached out and gently laid a hand on her shoulder as he spoke her name again. She whirled around with a gasp, relaxing when she saw him.

"Harry!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's OK."

"Did you do it?" he asked. "The light."

"I – I didn't mean to," she muttered, avoiding his gaze. "I just… you know, lost control."

"I know the feeling," Harry said, his face breaking into a slight grin. "It's OK, it's just a light. At least you didn't blow up your aunt. Or your teacher's electric tea kettle."

The corners of Ella's mouth twitched, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Is everyone...?"

"Everyone's fine," Harry confirmed, and she relaxed visibly, letting out a shaky breath. "You're still learning to control your magic, Ella. I still have trouble when I'm angry, or upset, or…"

"Right," she said, and she dropped down onto the couch, still avoiding his eyes.

"So – er," Harry said, sitting down beside her, fully aware that he was about to step onto tenuous ground, "are you angry? Or upset?"

"I may be just a little, teeny, tiny bit upset," she admitted, looking down at her hands.

"Do you – er – want to talk about it?" A small part of him almost hoped she didn't, as he was utterly unsure of how to proceed with this conversation. But she was upset, and it was entirely his fault – he had been the one who kissed her, after all, and set all of this into motion. And he couldn't just walk away now.

"It's just… hard," she said slowly, still not looking at him, "to shoot this kind of scene with Rob, and not think about, you know…" She trailed off and glanced up at him, her brown eyes finally meeting his green ones.

"It's hard for me too," Harry admitted, his stomach clenching as he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said. "I'm sorry I've been avoiding you the past few weeks. I know I said I was OK with, you know, what happened… But it's hard, because every time I see you, I can't pretend I feel nothing for you. This just sucks, you know?"

"I feel the same way," Harry said softly. "I just don't want to start something with you and disappear, Ella. You deserve more than that. You're so amazing, and I wish I had all this time to spend with you. I wish we had more time..."

"Right," she said slowly. She twisted her hands together tightly, as if trying to work out some internal struggle. "We don't know how much time we have. But you know"– she looked into this eyes intently –"I think it's better to have some, than none at all. Don't you?"

Then, before he could respond, she leaned over and planted her lips on his, and Harry found himself kissing her back before his mind had time to catch up. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, and as their lips danced with each other and his heart pounded in his ears, he knew with every ounce of his being that something that felt like this couldn't possibly be wrong.

The broke apart and gazed at each other. Her hand squeezed his softly.

"I'm still going back," Harry said, "when the time comes."

"' _Never regret anything you have done with a sincere affection,'"_ she quoted with a slight smile _. "'Nothing is lost that is born of the heart.'_ Basil Rathbone, Harry. You know, nothing lasts forever. And it already feels like we've lost each other, doesn't it? But we don't have to give up everything just yet. I think… I think if it's going to feel like this anyway, I'd rather look back on whatever it is we could have fondly, than regret wondering what it could've been because we were too afraid to try at all."

"OK," Harry said, and to his surprise, his face broke into a smile. Maybe there was some truth to her words. She was right about one thing at any rate – avoiding their feelings hurt too much already. Perhaps, just this once, he could live in the moment, if only for a little bit. "So let's be honest then, about whatever this is."

"Yes, let's. But no one can know," Ella said seriously.

"Except Robert."

"Of course," she allowed, grinning broadly. "Except Robert."


	21. Happy Middle

**Chapter Twenty-One:**

_Happy Middle_

.

The weeks that followed were like something out of a storybook.

As September turned into October and the weather grew steadily colder, Harry found himself spending nearly every free moment with Ella. They went to Thorpe Park on a free Wednesday, where Harry found that riding a roller coaster was almost as adrenaline-inducing as riding his Firebolt. They took a day trip to Kent, and spent the afternoon picking and then eating apples on a farm, which they washed down with hot cider and buttered corn. They went to late night movie screenings, appearing on set exhausted the following morning, and for once Harry found that he didn't mind – not the fatigue, nor the coffee, because spending time with Ella was a much better reason to be tired than dreams of Voldemort that kept him up at night. They hid their faces beneath disguises, sometimes Muggle and sometimes magical. At times, Robert accompanied them on their adventures and, for the first time, Harry found himself living the Muggle life he had so often watched Dudley enjoy, but had never personally experienced.

They went out on Halloween night. After admitting to Ella that he had never been trick-or-treating (the Dursleys preferring to leave him with Mrs. Figg for the night, while they took Dudley around the neighborhood), she took matters into her own hands and showed up on his doorstep late Tuesday afternoon with Robert, and his two young cousins, Stephanie and Amanda. The two girls were dressed as witches (not of the Harry Potter variety), and Ella and Robert were both donning their Hogwarts uniforms. Ella had worked her hair into something of a bushy cloud that he didn't think even Hermione could have managed without serious effort, and she was wearing sunglasses. Robert, for his part, had pulled a Gryffindor beanie low over his eyes.

"Cloak on!" Ella said brightly, as Harry stared at them, completely nonplussed. "And I hope you've got a bucket."

"Sorry?"

"If not, I have an extra here," she added, grinning, and held out a small orange pumpkin-shaped pail.

Harry dropped some candy from the bowl he was holding into Stephanie's and Amanda's outstretched pumpkins and then put the bowl down and looked at Ella and Robert incredulously.

"Come on, hurry up," Robert said, grinning. "We've got lots of houses to hit before it gets dark and I have to take these two home."

"You can't be serious," Harry said.

"Come on," Ella said brightly, "look, we've brought children! Halloween is a judgement-free zone!"

"All right then," Harry said, shrugging, and ten minutes later he had joined them on the street, straightening his own Gryffindor robe, and adjusting his hat and scarf. Ella handed him the bucket, and they set off down the block together.

"Are you Rob's movie friend too?" Stephanie asked him curiously as they walked.

"Yes," Harry said.

"So you're an actor?" Amanda chimed in.

"Uh huh." He glanced over at Robert, who mouthed, "They aren't allowed to read it yet."

"So you and Rob and Ella all go to work together?" Amanda asked. "Is it true you don't have to go to school?"

"Aren't you sad?" Stephanie asked. "I just started school! It's so much fun! I made so many friends! And we have art and stuff."

"We have art," Ella chimed in seriously. Harry laughed.

"No, we have Calculus," he supplied.

"What's that?" Amanda asked curiously.

"A really fun class where you have numbers mixed with letters, and you have to figure out mathematical equations," Robert said.

Amanda wrinkled her nose. "That's not fun at all! I don't wanna take Calculus! I'm going to skip being fifteen so I don't have to do it!"

"Me too!" Stephanie cried.

They both giggled madly and dashed up the walk of the nearest house. Harry watched as they rang the doorbell and then waited patiently until the screen door swung open and Daniyel's neighbor, dressed like Princess Leia, peaked out with a bowl of candy.

"Trick or treat!" the girls chorused.

"Aren't you both adorable!" she cooed, reaching into her bowl and dropping copious amounts of Mars bars into their pumpkins. "What kinds of magic can you do? Have you got wands?"

The girls hurried to produce their magic wands, which were topped with stars, and waved them around excitedly.

"I'm a good witch, and I have a magic unicorn!" Stephanie volunteered. "Her name's Mufflet, and I ride her everywhere! But you can't see her, because she's invisible!"

"I eat good witches for breakfast," Amanda said seriously.

"I see. That's… sweet," Princess Leia said, amused. Robert laughed.

"Come on!" Ella said brightly, and the three of them followed the girls up the walk.

"Trick or treat!" Ella said, smiling. "Us too!"

Princess Leia looked them over and burst out laughing. "Brilliant, Ella, Daniyel," she said seriously. "Really, that's excellent."

"But he's not Daniyel," Ella said seriously. "He's Harry Potter! And I'm Hermione! And Ron's here too, of course."

"I am," Harry confirmed, truthfully.

She handed them each a Mars bar, still chuckling. "You three should stop by the Community Centre tonight. They're having a costume contest."

"Are you going, Rebecca?" Ella asked.

"Wouldn't miss it. Also, I'm not Rebecca, I'm Leia. Obviously."

"Of course, my bad," Ella said.

Stephanie and Amanda, who had wandered back towards the street, screeched at them to hurry up, so they waved goodbye to Rebecca and walked back to join the girls as they ran towards the next house. Harry wondered if it would be more embarrassing or less embarrassing to do this in another neighborhood. By the time they reached the fifth house it didn't seem to matter though, since the neighbors no longer seemed to recognize them; something Ella attributed to their over-obvious disguises and a profound lack of looking properly.

By the time evening settled around them and Ella slipped off her sunglasses in the gathering darkness, their candy pails were surprisingly heavy, and Harry found that he was rather enjoying himself. Though considering he enjoyed any time spent in Ella's company, it was hard to say whether the activity itself or her excitement about it had been the cause. Robert, who had promised to return the girls to their parents by nighttime, collected his disappointed cousins and bid them goodnight.

"Coming back?" Ella asked, as he transferred both of their candy buckets into his backpack. "Wanna drop by the contest?"

"No it's OK, you guys have fun. I'm going to turn in early."

They watched him walk away, both girls holding on to one of his hands, until they vanished into the night. Harry smiled. Things here were so… normal. If it hadn't been for Voldemort, how many Halloweens would he have spent, just like this? But it was a futile thought. Voldemort was what he was. And the last Halloween at Hogwarts had been a bloody massacre. He could only hope that the next one would be better.

"Should we turn in early too?" he asked Ella. "We have an early day tomorrow."

"Nah," she said. "We should hit up that costume contest."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Not entirely," she admitted. "But what's life without a little risk, Harry?"

He wanted to say that it was pleasant, and relaxing, and altogether very nice, and that honestly he had taken enough risks to last a lifetime; but Ella wanted to check out the contest, and he wanted to spend more time with Ella, so they dropped off their buckets of candy at Daniyel's house and made their way to the Community Centre, which also doubled as a library and, apparently, a party space.

The atmosphere around the Community Centre was one of great excitement as they walked up to the big square building. Music and enthusiastic voices drifted out from the doors, which had been propped wide open. People were milling around outside, chatting and drinking cider, and playing games that had been set up in the parking lot, which was also lined with jack-o-lanterns and strung with glowing orange lights and inflatable ghosts. Children slightly older than Amanda and Stephanie chased each other through the lot, shrieking excitedly. There were stands selling food, and drinks, and raffle tickets. People in costumes were everywhere, and no one gave them a second glance.

Harry and Ella wended their way through the crowd and bought two cups of cider from a stand in the corner. Ella looked around, clutching her cup tightly, her eyes aglow with excitement.

"This is pretty cool. They're having a whole festival."

"I suppose," Harry said. He had a complicated relationship with Halloween, no matter how he looked at it, but it was nice to see other people enjoying it.

She took hold of his hand and they wandered through the milling crowd, stopping at several booths where Ella made attempts at carving pumpkins and throwing rings at bottles while Harry looked on. She eventually convinced him to try his hand at darts, and he managed to pop several balloons in a quick succession, which resulted in a small stuffed plushie for Ella. Harry thought it looked rather like a cross between an orange ghost and a pumpkin.

"Orange Ghost is a legit name for this, whatever it is," Ella agreed.

As they stepped away from the booth, an announcement blared across the lot inviting everyone in costume to line up to be judged. Ella grabbed Harry's hand again and dragged him along, and they joined the queue between two almost-teenage kids dressed as pirates, and a group of Star Wars cosplayers that Harry realized, on second glance, included Rebecca in her Princess Leia attire. She grinned at them and he raised his hand in a half wave.

"What happened to your Ron?" she called.

"Took the children home," Ella called back over the music. "We'll have to make do without him."

They quieted down then as the contest coordinator announced the rules for judging, which were simple enough – the costumes that received the loudest round of applause would win. Following this announcement, Harry and Ella lost spectacularly to a group of three pre-teens, who were also dressed as the Golden Trio, but were not missing Ron, and were no older than twelve. At this point Rebecca and Ella had both started laughing uncontrollably, and Harry had been forced to grab Ella by the arm and pull her away before people looked too closely and started to recognize them.

" _But you're Harry!"_

She sniggered as they made their way past a small maze built out of haystacks and around the back of the building, where the crowd finally thinned out. She pointed a finger at him, her hand shaking as she tried to suppress her laughter. "You can't lose a costume contest to someone else pretending to be you. That's hilarious! Isn't that your _actual_ uniform?"

"It is," Harry agreed, also starting to laugh. "And _you're_ Ella. You have one job, and that's pretending to be Hermione."

"Oh my God, you're right." She doubled over, laughing. "I should probably be fired!"

They stood there, sniggering, for a bit longer, until they had regained their breath. Harry couldn't help but grin as he looked at her. There was something about Ella that made his whole world come alive.

"Check this out, Harry," she said promptly, and before he could respond, she had taken a running leap towards the wall of the Community Centre, launched herself into the air, and released a burst of magical energy from her hands, which propelled her up onto the roof. She scrambled over the edge and then turned back around and grinned down at him. Harry sighed, glanced around to make sure that they were actually alone, then took out his wand and muttered, " _Ascendio!_ " and raised himself slowly onto the roof.

"Don't do that," he told her sternly. "You have to be more careful with your magic."

"You did it when you were little though, didn't you?"

"Only by accident."

"All right." She walked across the roof, until she was looking down at the festival spread out below them, and sat down in the shadows of the rooftop. Harry sat down next to her, watching as the remains of the contest queue drifted apart.

"You're really good at wandless magic," he said. Or at least, he reflected, she was really good at everything that was big and loud, and involved quick bursts of force. She still had trouble channeling her magic through the wand, or maintaining any spell for more than a few moments, though she was improving dramatically the more they worked together.

"Thanks," she said, smiling. "I still can't believe I'm doing it at all, honestly. And I know I'm pretty terrible with your wand."

"You're not bad."

"Uh huh," she said dubiously. She glanced at him, and he reached out and clasped her hand. Her fingers felt warm against his. She smiled. "Did you have fun?"

"It was probably the best Halloween I've ever had," he admitted. "Including the one where Quirrell let the troll into the dungeons next to the Slytherin common room."

She laughed again, and Harry found himself getting helplessly drawn into a steady stream of memories of Halloweens past: Quirrell running the length of the Great Hall, the glowing blue candles of Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party, the torn strips of the Fat Lady's portrait after Sirius had made his first attempt on Wormtail's life, and, finally, the shocked silence of the Great Hall when Dumbledore had called his name for the Triwizard Tournament. The beginning of the end.

And then, something he had been trying to avoid entirely: a flash of green light… mixed with a cold, cruel laugh. Harry shuddered.

"Your parents?" she asked softly.

"Yeah." He wondered how she could read him so well. "I didn't know it happened on Halloween," he admitted, gazing distractedly at the bright lights of the festival below. "Not until Hagrid told me when I was eleven. You would think that would've made it a terrible day from then on, but strangely it didn't. I guess because I didn't really remember it, didn't associate them… so that first Halloween at Hogwarts, that was kind of amazing. But then they all went downhill from there. The Chamber of Secrets. Sirius trying to break into Gryffindor Tower… though I guess that wasn't so bad, in retrospect." He laughed softly and glanced over at Ella, who had fixed her dark brown eyes on his and was watching him intently. "I guess it's just nice to do something normal, you know, on Halloween. Where no one gets murdered, or petrified, or puts my name in the Goblet of Fire, or anything..."

He trailed off lamely, feeling like he was babbling. He had never really talked about his parents, not even with Ron and Hermione, but it was so easy to talk to Ella. He found that he wanted to share things with her that he had never spoken aloud.

"It's OK," she said, "I get it. I can't imagine how it must've been, to never know them."

He took a deep breath, the lights below blurring slightly. "Sometimes I wonder if it's better that I can't actually remember them. I think it hurts less that way. But that sounds terrible… and besides, I want to know them _. More than anything_."

"I think," she said slowly, "that however you feel about it, it's OK. And it's not strange to feel both ways at once. They aren't at odds." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "You've dealt with so much crap, Harry. But you handle it all so well, it's kind of amazing, you know. And you're supposed to do the right thing, I guess. That's the whole point, isn't it? You do it, and you handle it with grace. No matter what. But you can't just keep saving everyone but yourself. You deserve to be happy too. Anyway, that's kind of why I wanted to do this. Whatever happens when you… when you leave. At least you'll have one good Halloween to remember. This is… how they're supposed to be." Her voice broke and she grew silent, gazing away from him, out into the night.

"Thanks for this," Harry mumbled. He glanced at her, stunned still by the good fortune of the time they had managed to carve out. He could have never, in a million years, imagined someone quite like her. And the thing he had most wanted to ask, but was most afraid of hearing the answer to, burst forth before he could stop himself. "Ella… do you think I'm just… meant to be a story? Here? I…"

He broke off, his question hanging heavily in the night, and she turned around then, until her eyes were locked on his.

"No," she whispered. There was no hesitation in her words. "Of course not. You're _real_ , Harry. _You are._ You always have been."

Her eyes sparkled with reflected lights as she held his gaze, seemingly glowing with promise; and he stared back at her, his heart rate quickening, the world around her fading from existence, paling in comparison to her light.

He leaned down, closing the distance between them, and kissed her softly. They lost themselves for a while, aware only of each other. Her hair tangled around his fingers and she felt warm, pressed up against him. Her breath was sweet upon his tongue, and she smelled faintly of cider, of pumpkins, of the fresh scent of fall. He reached for her, his hands getting lost in her hair, brushing past her tie, as his fingers trailed gently down past her collarbone. He could feel her heart racing wildly against her chest, her heartbeat mirroring his own. She gasped softly as he slipped his fingers underneath the clasp of her robes, and he drew back, unsure, but she looked at him intently and nodded once, and then her mouth was locked on his once more, and all he could think, as their embrace blossomed into a dance, was that she was beautiful. So beautiful. They held each other tightly; and as he lost himself within her arms, he was grateful for her, for the time they had, _for this moment._

He jolted abruptly awake to the insistent ringing of his cell phone and squinted into a glorious sunrise. Ella was huddled up against him, and he was colder than he had ever been in his life, including that time in the lake. He glanced at the phone as Ella opened her eyes and gazed around blearily. As he scrolled through several texts from Daniyel's parents demanding to know where he was, and then stumbled awkwardly to his feet, pulling Ella up alongside him, he reflected that spending the night on the roof of the Community Centre had probably been an exceeding stupid thing to do.

Still, he couldn't help but grin at Ella as she rubbed her eyes and mumbled, "Did we actually fall asleep here? Crap."

He grasped her hand and pulled her to the back edge of the roof. As they carefully made their way down, while running through a list of potential excuses aloud, and made their way past the now-empty booths still set up around the parking lot and looking much less festive in the cold blue light of dawn, they couldn't help but smile at each other.

Whatever happens, Harry decided, it had been worth it, just to have that one night together. And he still felt that way later, as he stood, ashamed, in Daniyel's foyer, making feeble excuses to Daniyel's furious parents. And later still, when he and Ella both developed horrible coughs and he had to ask Sirius for some Pepper-Up Potion, which Sirius handed over with a slightly raised eyebrow ("You both got sick practicing magic outside? Don't these Muggles have appropriate winter attire? Do you want your cloak?").

"I can't wear a cloak around, Sirius," Harry said, amused. "I'm supposed to be blending in, not standing out more. I think Daniyel's more famous than I am." Then he had dissolved into a coughing fit and been forced to gulp down half the burning potion as Sirius looked on in some concern.

"So how _is_ it going, the magic lessons?" Sirius asked, as Harry put down the vial, and waved the steam out of his eyes. "Is Ella making progress?"

"Definitely," Harry choked out. He waited for the potion to take effect before continuing. "She's got a real talent for wandless magic. I don't think even Hermione could... anyway, I'm trying to teach her to have better control over it and use the wand to channel more."

"That's great, Harry!" Sirius said. "It sounds like you're a good teacher. Dumbledore thinks it's best that she can fully control her powers by the time we get you back here. But then again, Daniyel can always help her out after you switch back, I suppose. But keep working on it. May I suggest you do it indoors from now on, though?"

"Right," Harry said, momentarily struck by the thought of leaving Ella – a feeling he buried quickly and hoped Sirius hadn't seen on his face.

And work on it they did – for days and hours on end. They practiced in Daniyel's room, or in secluded corners of the park (wrapped in puffy winter coats as the weather grew colder), or at the studio after everyone had left. Robert, who had good-naturally volunteered to be the target of a wide array of spells and charms, never complained as Ella repeatedly Stunned, or Full-Body-Bound him, or threw him across the room at piles of cushions Harry had conjured up.

"Brilliant," Robert told her, after she Revived him for the fifth time in a row, late on Friday night. He got gingerly to his feet and sat down on the edge of the trampoline. They were practicing in the empty stunt training room.

"I think that's enough," Harry said hurriedly. "You've got the hang of it now, Ella, let's give Rob a break."

"I'm all right." Robert grinned. "Ella's just enabling me to fulfill my daily nap requirement."

Ella sat down next to Robert on the trampoline, twirling Harry's wand. "You sure you can't do any magic, Rob? You should try again. You never know."

"I don't think it works like that," Robert said, and Harry looked over curiously as he collected the cushions. He had often wondered if Robert was disappointed that he hadn't also discovered some latent magical abilities. They had met up shortly after the day in the park, and Harry had volunteered his wand, but Robert hadn't been able to cast anything successfully. Between Ella discovering her magic, and Ella and Harry dating and thus spending more time alone together, he supposed it was probably lonely for Robert to be left out.

"It's all right," Robert continued. "It can be your thing, I don't mind."

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice, which made Harry realize that she probably shared his feelings. "It would've been great if we could all do it together."

"I'm hardly missing out. You've been Stunning me all day!"

"And you're such a good sport about it!" Harry said, walking over to them. "Ron sure complained a lot more when I practiced Stunners on him."

They let themselves out of the stunt room and made their way down the fluorescently-lit hallway towards the exit. There were still a surprising amount of people bustling around, and as they glanced through the open door to the soundstage on their way past, they saw the key grip, Jane, checking off items on a clipboard as she glanced over a large pile of video equipment that had amassed at her feet.

"Setting up for next week, I expect," Robert said, as they continued down the hall.

The production was finally venturing outside the set for the first time since Harry's arrival, and would be shooting overnights on location in Alfriston, a small village south of London, which would serve as the backdrop for a battle scene set halfway through the film; a scene which Harry hoped would not in any way actually occur back home. But considering how far the film he was working on had now diverged from events he knew to be happening back at Hogwarts, he was hard-pressed to find much common ground. The world of Harry Potter that Ella and Robert had known in the past was now entirely unconnected and unfamiliar, and was as much of a story to Harry as to anyone else.

"I don't know why we couldn't do this back in the summer when it wasn't freezing," Ella said. "It's going to be bloody brutal."

"You can just cuddle with Harry if you get cold," Robert said with a grin.

"Shut it!" Ella cried as Harry blushed furiously. "And I told you, no one knows we're"– she lowered her voice significantly –"dating. So shush."

"I'm sure no one knows," Robert said seriously. "So, will you be dating this weekend?"

"Ella will be learning _Incendio_ ," Harry said. "Which I'm not sure she needs to know, but she insists. Come with us?"

"I would, but I actually prefer that my eyebrows stay _on_ my face."

"Thanks, appreciate the vote of confidence," Ella said, rolling her eyes.

By the time Sunday night came around though, Harry was also of the opinion that he appreciated his eyebrows. Not that Ella had actually burned off his eyebrows, mind, but after he had been forced to put out several small fires in Daniyel's secluded backyard, he was incredibly grateful that the neighbors could not see into it, that Daniyel's parents were out for the day, and that no one had called (or maybe more importantly, had _needed_ to call) the fire department.

"Nice job," he told Ella, as he put out the umpteenth fire of the day, and then put away the wand before she got any more ideas. "We'll work on the counter-curse next time."

"Not now?" She sounded disappointed.

"I think you've done enough for one day, and Daniyel's parents will be back soon."

The trooped inside the house, where Ella played with Binka with a surprising amount of energy while Harry dug through the fridge until he managed to produce some leftover cottage pie. He heated it up quickly and then carried two steaming plates over to the kitchen table. Ella plopped gratefully down opposite him and attacked the plate ravenously.

"Dan's mum's special cottage pie?" she asked happily in between bites.

"The one and only," confirmed Harry, who was a fan.

"So what's the plan?" Ella asked, after inhaling her plate of food. "Should we stay up really late and sleep until four tomorrow, so we can show up perfectly well rested and ready to do our best work?"

Harry agreed that this was a reasonable plan, and they settled on the sitting room couch with an assortment of snacks. Ella shuffled through the movie collection and popped _Narnia_ into the DVD player, and by the time Daniyel's parents returned from their day trip to Bath and joined them, they were watching Edmund's rescue from the witch's lair with baited breath. However staying up all night was easier said than done, especially after a day full of spell-casting, and by the time they had finished _Narnia_ and started on _Batman Begins_ , the movie had begun to blur together in an incredibly confusing way, and when Harry next glanced around, sunlight was streaming through the window, and it was just past eight in the morning.

Once he was awake, he found it was impossible to go back to sleep, so he gently extricated himself from the couch and Ella's still sleeping form and accepted breakfast from Mrs. Bluelake, who glanced at him with amused sympathy and said, "Don't worry, you're young. I'm sure you'll sleep all day tomorrow," before departing for work. He spent the next several hours quietly playing with Binka, reading through the newest textbook Sirius had given him the previous week, and contemplating the safest way to teach Ella the counter-curse for the Fire-Making Spell.

By the time Harry and Ella got out of their shared town car and joined Robert on a small street in Alfriston later that evening, Harry was already thinking longingly of Daniyel's bed. However, since he had no hopes of seeing it again for at least the next several hours, he allowed himself to be led to a row of trailers, where Marlene was waiting with her makeup kit. Before long, his face, hair, and clothes were camera-ready and, ironically, he felt nothing like himself in them. But he had already been here nearly six months, and by now this was nothing new.

Over the last few months, Harry had discovered that film shoots were not nearly as exciting as he had imagined them to be in his childhood, at odd moments when he had snuck into the sitting room to watch _Bodger & Badger_ from the edge of the stairs (so that Dudley couldn't reach him). They involved long hours, a lot of waiting around, a lot of doing the same thing over and over again, and a lot of unsatisfactory food. The soundstage also tended to become sweltering after they all spent several hours underneath the scorching lights.

Being on location was, if possible, even more of a letdown. It was now mid-November, and the night was, as Ella had predicted, freezing. They were grateful that their wardrobes included both robes and cloaks, but after several hours spent running around the high street, aiming curses at a persistent group of Death Eaters, Harry could barely feel his fingers. Or his ears. As he, Robert, and Ella wandered over to the craft table sometime around 10PM, they found that even the coffee and tea were not immune from the chill, and had become rather lukewarm, even inside their thermal carafes. Ella sighed with disappointment and offered her barely touched cup of tea to Harry, who downed it anyway, since it fulfilled his caffeine requirement, and then walked back towards Carlos, who was waving her over impatiently for her close-ups.

Harry and Robert collected some hand warmers and blankets and walked over to end of the street, where they settled down against the side of a small shop with blacked-out windows and looked on as Carlos directed Ella to the middle of the road, where the dolly grip was laying out a set of tracks. Ella nodded seriously as Carlos gestured down the street, and as Harry and Robert watched absently, the crew finished setting up the camera, and the camera operator jumped atop it. The dolly grip pushed it along the track, and when Carlos called, "Action!" Ella took off down the road, glancing back over her shoulder, her expression one of terrified determination.

Harry gazed at her face as he watched Carlos put her through her paces several times. The sight of her still caused his stomach to jump wildly, and his heart to speed up in his chest, and he avoided, once again, thinking about how he would feel when he would be gone, when this would all be over. It was easy to forget sometimes, as he traipsed around Muggle London with Ella, that in the other world, which at times seemed so distant, Voldemort, and not the girl before him, was what waited at the end of the road.

And he knew he would do it, the right thing, as she had so eloquently put it. There was no other way forward, after all, and he couldn't stay in the in-between with Ella forever. He wasn't sure he could even say it was bravery that drove him – you could hardly say it was a brave choice, when it was the only choice. The only _reasonable_ _choice_. But they had walked into this knowingly. Ella, he knew, understood intrinsically. Someday, maybe not today, but someday soon, he would be forced to trade. Ella for Voldemort. Happiness for… _for who knew what_. And she wouldn't expect any less. But even so, as he squeezed the hand warmers tightly and gazed at Ella, her features shimmering slightly in the glow of the lights, he thought that maybe these moments, at least, were enough.


	22. The Circle

**Chapter Twenty-Two:**

_The Circle_

.

The sun sank slowly behind the Forbidden Forest, bathing the grounds in golden light. Daniyel sat on the edge of the lake, the smooth surface of which glimmered in orange hues that faded imperceptibly to purple, and watched the water as it swelled silently against the shore.

Hogwarts. It really was beautiful.

He rested his chin on his knees as he gazed vaguely into the distance. A cool breeze rustled through the trees and ruffled his hair. It had been nearly six months since he had woken up at Hogwarts. Winter had withdrawn, taking the snow with it, and spring had snuck upon them. Everywhere he looked, plants were beginning to poke out of the earth. Flowers were popping into bloom around the grounds, turning the cold, grey landscape into a colorful panorama.

In two months, Hogwarts would let out for the summer holidays, and Daniyel could not imagine where he would be then. With no word of Voldemort's movements, no change in Snape's demeanor, and Harry still trapped far away in his Muggle London; Daniyel had begun to wonder if he would spend the summer with the Dursleys after all.

It was a thought that he dreaded considerably; though if it came to it, he supposed he would have to take the opportunity to thoroughly irritate Harry's aunt and uncle. Somebody bloody had to, after all, considering everything they had done. Even so, the prospect of it all, and the fact that it had been six months since he had spoken to anyone back home aside from Ella and Robert, had started to wear him down.

He sat there, lost in thought, as darkness fell, until a rustling sound brought him out of his daze. He jumped up, his hand darting to his wand. The bushes around him were moving. Within a moment they had parted, and Ron crawled out into his little clearing, followed by Hermione. They froze, staring at his wand.

"Bloody hell, mate, don't curse us!" Ron said hurriedly.

"Blimey, I almost did. What are you doing here?" Daniyel said, lowering the wand.

"We were wondering where you were, Dan," Hermione said in a rather matter-of-fact voice as she climbed to her feet and brushed dirt off her robes.

"Just here, taking a breather. How did you find me?"

"Ron saw you walking over this way earlier. You hadn't come back, so we went looking for you. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, fine," Daniyel said. "I've just been thinking about home a lot lately, so I've been coming here to… process."

"Would you like some company?" Hermione offered with a small smile.

"Sure. I'd like that."

He sat back down on the ground and Ron and Hermione dropped down beside him. They stared out over the water, which had turned a deep purple as the last rays of sun left it.

"Nice view," Ron commented.

"Yeah, it's pretty cool," Daniyel said. "You should've seen it earlier. It–"

He broke off, listening hard. He had heard another rustle in the bushes. Hermione noticed it too.

"What's that!" she said abruptly, her voice several pitches higher than normal.

Daniyel glanced around, gripping his wand tightly again. The bushes parted for the second time, and Arabella Figg walked into the clearing. He sighed.

He was going to have to find a new spot next time he wanted to unwind; this one was getting too popular.

"All three of you, eh?" she said, glancing them up and down and shaking her head slightly. "It's late. Why aren't you inside?"

"Sorry, Arabella, we'll head back now," Daniyel said hurriedly. "C'mon, Ron. Hermione."

They clambered to their feet and turned back toward Hogwarts. Arabella smiled as they walked past her.

"Good," she said.

And then, without warning, his body was suddenly overcome by an unbearable weakness. Before he knew what was happening, he felt himself pitching forward. Falling. He could not make sense of it; his legs were simply not responding. He tried to cry out, but found that he could not speak. His knees hit the ground, hard, and he tried to reach out with his hands to break his fall, but he could barely move them.

His wand slipped from his limp fingers as he hit the ground, but he could barely feel the impact, or the rough earth beneath his cheek. His eyes darted around wildly in confusion, and he saw the limp shapes of Ron and Hermione lying beside him, their eyes wide and terrified. Before he could process what had happened, he was flung into the air, and then thrown back down, onto his back this time. He lay there, gasping, staring up at the dark sky, which was just beginning to twinkle with stars.

Arabella was standing over them, her wand pointed straight at his heart.

She laughed. The sound of it, oddly muted, stabbed into him like a knife.

"Ara…bella…" Daniyel gasped. His tongue felt thick and heavy; he could barely move it. He stared up at her in horror.

"Oh, Harry," she said softly. "Didn't Dumbledore ever tell you not to leave the castle at night?"

They lay at her mercy, their bodies limp and helpless, and Daniyel watched in dismay as her face transformed; the kindness he had come to know her by was gone, replaced with an almost mad look of jubilation.

"W-why?" he panted.

He couldn't wrap his mind around what was happening. Ron and Hermione lay immobile beside him.

"You… _traitor_!" Hermione gasped, her voice straining with the effort.

Arabella laughed again; the sound so piercing, Daniyel was sure it would carry to the castle. His eyes darted around frantically, but they were alone. Arabella's wand was still pointed at him.

"Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this moment?" she said softly. "Oh, Harry…keeping you alive and out of trouble, until the Dark Lord was finally, _finally_ ready for you. All those Order meetings. Being _anything and everything_ all of you needed me to be. Giving Dumbledore _just_ the right amount of information. Finally… it is nearly over." Her eyes gleamed madly as she stared them down.

"Snape," Hermione breathed, "you–"

"Oh, Severus," Arabella said, her face darkening. "Of course the Dark Lord couldn't leave him stumbling around, passing information back and forth the way he was. _Especially after he'd seen me._ No. It had to be done. Poor Severus," she continued, as they stared at her in revulsion, "I suppose he'll be in that state for… well – ever. And to think, he thought he was the ultimate double agent – when all this time, _it was me_."

Out of the corner of his eye, Daniyel saw Ron's arm twitch briefly beside him. He thought he could feel the tips of his own fingers again. He felt a momentary burst of hope – perhaps the spell that was holding them was wearing down. If they could only keep her talking long enough…

"Ready for… what?" he managed; Arabella's spell made him feel as if there was no air left in his lungs.

"Ready," she said, smiling wildly, "for the prophecy… to finally be fulfilled."

She raised her arms to the steadily darkening sky, and suddenly hooded figures stepped out of the trees around them.

"No!" Hermione gasped, terror in her voice.

The figures surrounded them silently, drawing nearer until they formed a wall and Daniyel could barely see the surface of the lake.

"There's three of them," one of the figures said in a rasp. "We're to take Potter. Should we get rid of the others?"

"No," Arabella said, "they might prove useful. Take them all."

They drew closer, and Daniyel watched helplessly as one of them grabbed Hermione by the arm and hauled her up. She let out a soft scream, her eyes wide.

"No!" Ron hissed, struggling to rise up. "Let her go! _Stupefy!"_

He moved his arm weakly, aiming a Stunner at the Death Eater holding Hermione, but they merely stepped aside and the spell flew harmlessly past, glinting red over the still water. Another Death Eater grabbed him roughly and slapped the side of his head until he hung limp. He grabbed Ron's wand and pocketed it.

 _Doesn't anyone at the school see this?_ Daniyel thought desperately. _Sirius. Dumbledore. Anyone._

The Death Eaters holding Ron and Hermione backed away, leaving Daniyel alone. Arabella stepped closer to him and he tried to block her out, to focus entirely on the hand lying limply beside his wand, and on his magic – to feel the pulse of icy energy, which he thought might be the only thing that could save them. His fingers grasped at the pale wood.

" _Glacies!_ "

She deflected the icy spears that shot at her easily. He sagged back, drained, her spell still holding him down. The wand slipped from his fingers.

"You were never one to give up easily, Harry," she said, crouching down in front of him. "Even when you were little. I always admired that about you. You know, I recall once, when the Dursleys took Dudley to the petting zoo and left you behind, you were so upset, Harry, you insisted on making your own petting zoo right there in my sitting room with and Mr. Paws – and Snowy, of course. You remember Snowy, don't you, Harry? You two have quite a history. But we're past history now, I'm afraid."

She raised her wand and stood up again. With a wave of her hand, he was hauled into the air. He hung like a rag doll before her.

"Well done, Arabella. Now drop him."

He tumbled back down to the ground. The impact reverberated dully through his limp body, but it was the voice that made his blood run cold.

"My Lord," Arabella murmured, bowing her head in reverence, "I did not expect you here. I was about to bring the boy to you."

"Such a momentous occasion," Voldemort said calmly, his red eyes gazing around at Arabella, her head lowered before him; at the Death Eaters standing in a silent circle, one holding on to Ron's limp form, and one still clenching Hermione's arm, her eyes wide and terrified; and finally at Daniyel, lying limply at her feet. "I felt it only fitting that I take him myself. Step aside."

"Of course, My Lord."

She hurried out of the way and Voldemort stepped closer to Daniyel, who stared into his red eyes, panic overtaking him. Everything they had worked toward was falling to ashes – Dumbledore's carefully laid plans would do them no good now. Voldemort had him at his mercy, and he couldn't lift a finger. His heart pounded wildly, throwing his thoughts into a panicked frenzy. He felt as if he couldn't breathe.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed, his lips curling up into a cold sneer. "It is finally done. You will not escape this time."

"F-fuck off," Daniyel choked out. Voldemort laughed softly.

"Take them away," he said, turning back to his followers. "We must leave the grounds, before the window Arabella has so kindly created for us closes. I will bring Potter myself."

One by one, the hooded figures melted into the night, until Daniyel and Voldemort were the only ones left. Arabella gave Voldemort one more fervent gaze before vanishing into the darkness. Daniyel watched through a panicked haze as Ron and Hermione disappeared from sight. His heart was pounding furiously in his ears. He felt worse than useless.

"Enjoy the view, Harry," Voldemort said, his voice a soft hiss. "You will not see Hogwarts again, I'm afraid. But I will be most generous. I will let you feast your eyes upon it one last time."

And with that, Voldemort flicked his wand and vanished. Daniyel felt an irrational surge of relief, until he realized that his own arm had disappeared, as if it were under an Invisibility Cloak. Next moment, he was dragged roughly forward, and he saw the outline of Voldemort's back appear before him.

Voldemort glided down the bank toward the lake, dragging Daniyel behind him along the rough ground, his head bouncing on rocks and branches along the way. When he reached the edge, Voldemort stepped out onto the water, which supported his weight, and skimmed toward the opposite shore.

As Daniyel was hauled onto the surface in his wake, his robes were instantly soaked through with water, the cold chill of it cutting across the numbness of Arabella's spell. The cold stabbed him everywhere at once. He did not sink beneath the surface, but water lapped over his face repeatedly, choking him as it splashed into his mouth and nose. As he looked around wildly, he saw Hogwarts over the treetops, its many windows glittering in the dark. It was beautiful. It was safety. And he knew then, that even if someone looked out of one of those well-lit windows, they would not see the invisible form of Voldemort gliding across the surface of the dark lake, dragging a limp form behind him.

Voldemort stepped onto the opposite shore and continued toward the Forbidden Forest. Daniyel coughed weakly, water dribbling down his chin. His robes were soaked and freezing, and his glasses had been lost somewhere along the way. Feeling was slowly returning to his body, which ached everywhere, and as Voldemort dragged him further into the forest, each obstacle in his path stabbed him like a knife.

The twinkling lights of Hogwarts disappeared behind the trees, and they were plunged into darkness.

"That will do," Voldemort said softly. He raised his wand, and Daniyel saw a flash of red light, growing quickly larger, and abruptly, there was nothing but black.

Voldemort walked further into the forest, until Hogwarts was long gone, and then he turned on the spot and vanished, dragging the young wizard with him.

The clearing where Daniyel, Ron, and Hermione had sat earlier that evening appeared undisturbed in the darkness. The only trace that they had ever been there at all was a fifteen and a quarter inch wand lying abandoned at the edge of the lake, its pale wood glinting in the early evening starlight.

* * *

When Daniyel came to, he felt only two things: an intense, biting cold, and a terrible pain all over his body.

He was still being dragged along the ground, but he realized, as he became more aware of his surroundings, that the temperature was much, much colder. His back was so frozen that it felt numb, but he thought the ground beneath him seemed softer than it had before. He was having trouble focusing, but he could make out several hooded shapes ahead of him, walking through the trees.

He realized then, that the ground was covered in snow.

Wherever he was, it was not the same forest.

He found that he was shivering violently, and when he tried to take a deep breath, it came out as moan. He desisted, afraid that Voldemort would hear him, would turn around. After another half hour, which felt like a lifetime, they stopped in the shadow of a towering wall of dark grey stone. Voldemort placed his palm against it, and an opening appeared within the wall of the fortress before them.

Daniyel lost track of things once more as he was dragged inside, and when he came back to awareness, the floor beneath him was freezing hard stone. When he opened his eyes, he saw the night sky above him, brilliantly lit up with a thousand stars. He was in a courtyard, surrounded by tall stony walls that reached relentlessly up into the sky. He was laying on a stone platform, and as he raised his head, he saw that he was at the center of a wide circle, which was carved into the very cobblestones of the courtyard. Death Eaters walked along its perimeter. Ron and Hermione were restrained in a far corner, their faces pale.

"How nice of you to join us, Harry."

He swung his head around to see Voldemort across the courtyard. He was standing with Arabella, who had an old, weathered book clasped tightly in hand. The Death Eaters drew closer to the circle.

"As you can see, everything is almost ready for you," Voldemort said in a low hiss. "You are my _most honored_ guest tonight."

"What is this?" Daniyel mumbled. "What do you want from me?"

"What do I want from you?" Voldemort repeated slowly. A cold sneer touched his lips. "Only _everything_ , Harry. Only your life. Only the powers you hold within. They are wasted on you. I see Dumbledore has been keeping you in the dark. How very touching. Yes... This reeks of Dumbledore through and though."

Daniyel struggled to sit up as Voldemort moved closer. He stepped over the edge of the circle, and a white light shot through its perimeter, separating Daniyel and Voldemort from the Death Eaters, and from Ron and Hermione, who looked on in silent horror.

"I advise you not to move. But I _will_ restrain you if I must, Harry. Now, it is almost time… for the Union of Awakening.

"I have made my mistakes with you, Harry, I will admit it. I have failed to kill you, again and again. But I have not wasted these past few months, no. I have gone back, and I have found the prophecies. I have read the stories. And I have – finally – unearthed Slytherin's domain. You lie, Harry, where Gryffindor took his last breath upon this earth. I have brought you here, to the hallowed ground of the final battle. And now it is time for you, the last Heir of Gryffindor, to lay down your life before me.

"And once it is done, Gryffindor's power will – at last – be mine." His face turned up into a cold sneer. "I thank you, Harry, for this wonderful gift. Do not worry, it will all be over soon."

Daniyel stared at him, pieces slowly falling into place. Dreams and theories… and _this_ was what Voldemort had wanted him for all along. But _not him_. He nearly laughed aloud. "It won't work," he choked out. "Go ahead and kill me. You won't get Gryffindor's powers. You don't get it."

"Silence!" Voldemort hissed. "Do not dare to mock me. It would do for you to learn some humility, Harry Potter, before you die. Don't forget that your friends are at my mercy. Perhaps I will kill one of them before we begin. How about the Mudblood?"

"No!" Daniyel gasped, terror seizing him again as Voldemort turned his wand upon Hermione. " _Please_. Don't."

"I see," Voldemort said, turning back to Daniyel. "So you don't wish your friends to die after all, Harry? How very touching indeed. Well, I will be more than happy to keep them alive – if they cooperate. Once you are dead, I am sure the blood traitor will come around to our cause. And the Mudblood… well I am certain we can find some other use for her..."

Daniyel felt his blood run cold as he stared at Ron and Hermione, who looked back at him helplessly. Hermione's face was so pale she looked ghost-like.

"Y-you won't win," Daniyel managed.

"Oh, Harry, but I already have," Voldemort said with a cold smile and, as Daniyel watched in horror, he raised his arms to the night sky.

" _When the suns light up the night_ ," he hissed, and a wind blew up around them, enclosing the circle, " _and the sacrifice is laid upon the stone… the blood takes the blood, and the circle is unbroken… the lion and the serpent stand as one…"_

There was a mounting roar of sound around them, and a dark mist began forming, obscuring their surroundings. It permeated the circle, and Daniyel could only just make out Voldemort, standing with his arms still raised to the night sky. The wind was growing in intensity, and Voldemort's robes were flapping violently in the gale. Sparks of red and green began to flare up around the edges of the circle, forming a dome around them.

" _Come forth, greatest of the Hogwarts Four,"_ Voldemort cried, his voice rising _, "upon this stone, the cost is paid, let the battle of the serpent and the lion end this night."_ He raised his arms higher still, and his voice became a shriek, that was nearly lost in a cold, cruel laugh. "Slytherin!" he called. "It is done! _Yes_! Bring the power of the mighty Slytherin upon this stone… and take it. _Take it_! _"_

Flashes of light were exploding around them. Daniyel could barely see anything except the bright lights that stabbed at his eyes and the obscuring black mist. His vision swam with exploding bursts of red and green, and an immense pressure held him down to the platform. He thought he heard screaming, but he wasn't sure where it was coming from.

Suddenly, there was a burst of white light and a tremendous bang; the force of it slammed him hard into the table, and he lay there, panting, as it diminished. The mist dispersed, as if it had never been. He turned his head and saw that Voldemort had been blasted off his feet. The bright perimeter of the circle flickered and died.

"M-my Lord!" one of the hooded figures gasped. She ran to Voldemort and crouched beside him. Several hooded figures followed her, approaching their master apprehensively.

"Move!" Voldemort hissed, rising to his feet. He whirled to face Daniyel, and when he saw Daniyel staring back at him, his red eyes narrowed to slits and gleamed in anger.

"It did not work!" he hissed angrily. "The boy is still alive!"

"I–" Arabella murmured, seemingly lost for words. She stood back, her fingers clutching the book tightly. "I don't understand."

There was a flash of violet light, and she was blasted backwards. Another flash, and the Death Eaters who had been brave enough to approach him lay crumpled at his feet. Voldemort stepped to the center of the circle, until he reached Daniyel and the platform, and surveyed him, his face livid.

"What have you done, Potter?" he hissed. "What has Dumbledore done?"

"Maybe," Daniyel managed, "you've been wrong this whole time. Maybe, _I'm just not the Heir of Gryffindor_." It felt oddly cathartic to taunt Voldemort, even when his whole body burned, and he was barely biting back his fear. "Maybe your plan's just not going to work." And as Voldemort glared at him, his eyes gleaming in fury, Daniyel began to laugh. Pain lanced through his bruised and battered form, but he couldn't stop, not even with the threat of death hanging over his head. Would _he_ be the reason that Voldemort did not get what he wanted more than anything? Would he be the sacrifice that the wizarding world needed? Voldemort appraised him in silence.

" _Crucio!_ " he said coldly.

Indescribable agony shot through Daniyel's body. His laugh was lost in an agonized yell. His vision turned nearly black. The cold he had been ignoring stabbed at him with renewed intensity, burning like fire. He felt Voldemort hit him with the curse again, and again, and again. He could see nothing but Voldemort's red eyes, hear nothing but his own screams. He lost count of how long it lasted. The pain was everything. He didn't think he could take another second; wasn't sure he was still alive… wasn't even sure he wanted to be. In that moment, he thought it would be OK if he never saw his parents again, or Ella, or Robert, or Ron and Hermione… _as long as he never had to feel again._

Abruptly, it ended. He lay on the platform, limp and shaking. He didn't even have the strength to turn his head. He heard, as if through a fog, Arabella's voice. It sounded very far away.

"My Lord, it is not over. We can make another attempt. We have until sunrise. Let us scour the archives. I am certain that if we find the full text…"

"Then find it!" Voldemort hissed in barely contained rage. He turned away from Daniyel, his voice starting to fade. " _Do not_ fail me again, Arabella. I want this done tonight. I have waited long enough. Get up, before I kill you all. Take them to the dungeons. _Get up, Bellatrix. Help her._ Get out of my sight, all of you!"

"Right away, My Lord," Arabella murmured, her voice getting lost in the rustling of robes, in the sounds of stumbling footsteps.

Daniyel lay there in a stupor, his vision slowly dimming, as two sets of hands grabbed him roughly and hauled him off the platform. They dragged him inside the fortress and down several flights of stairs. He slid in and out of awareness, the staircases and passageways blurring together, until he was thrown roughly onto a cold stone floor. He lay there, shaking and breathless, as the door slammed shut with a bang that echoed though his whole being, and the cell was plunged into darkness.

Their footsteps receded into the distance, and he was left quite alone, deep in the bowels of Shadow Hogwarts.


	23. Brave

**Chapter Twenty-Three:**

_Brave_

.

Harry jerked awake with a gasp and clutched at his scar, which throbbed painfully beneath his fingers. He stared around in a frenzied panic, cold sweat erupting all over his body. Everything was so confused. He could feel cold air on his face. For a second, he didn't know where he was.

"Harry! Are you OK?"

There was a weight on his shoulder. He pressed both hands to his scar, trying to block out the pain. Trying to focus. The shadow castle. The Union. Daniyel, Ron, Hermione… he had seen it… _had seen it all._

"No," he mumbled, "no, please."

"Harry!" the voice rang out more urgently. "What is it?"

He lowered his trembling hands and saw Robert staring at him, his face drawn in concern. They were still sitting at the edge of the village. Ella was running along the main street, her hair swirling out behind her, as if no time had passed. The dolly trailed after her as she looked back over her shoulder. She lifted her wand and aimed it at the lens. How was it, that the scene before him still looked entirely the same? He could not understand how the world could carry on so, completely unaware, untouched by what he had just witnessed. It was surreal.

"What's wrong?" Robert repeated, more urgently still. "Was it a dream? What did you see?

"Voldemort," Harry gasped, his voice cracking. Sweat dripped into his eye. He wiped at his head. "He's got them. He's…" he squeezed his eyes shut again as his scar gave another painful throb and pressed both palms furiously to his forehead. He needed to think. He needed… _Sirius_. He needed Sirius.

"Hey, is he all right?"

Harry squinted up at the unfamiliar voice. A production assistant who had been walking past with several steaming coffees in hand had paused, hesitating before them as he looked at Harry with concern. Harry forced himself to lower his arms.

"He's great," Robert said cheerfully, "just squeezing in some shut-eye."

"Are you sure? Daniyel?" the PA said. Alex – that was his name. Harry remembered now.

"Yeah," Harry said, keeping his voice impressively even. "All good. Just tired, long day."

"That it is," Alex agreed. "Overnights are rough. Definitely grab some downtime while you can. They won't be needing you for at least another hour at this rate."

"Right," Harry said, as Alex hurried away, "great." He tried to fight down the panic inside him. He turned to Robert, who was staring at him, his face tense.

"Who's ' _them,'_ Harry?" he said urgently.

"Ron," Harry breathed, the panic seeping back into his voice. "Hermione. _Daniyel_. I need to call Sirius. Right now!"

Robert stared at him, his face paling by degrees. "The trailer," he said. "It'll be empty."

Harry staggered to his feet and took off towards the row of trailers that were parked further down the street, Robert at his heels. He reached into the pocket of his cloak as he ran, his fingers closing around the cold smooth surface of the projector disc. His heart beat frantically in his throat.

They stumbled into the empty trailer, and as Robert secured the door behind them, Harry maneuvered into its cramped interior and cupped the projector in shaking hands. He focused on Sirius's face, calling out to him silently. There was no response. He glanced at the clock. It was just past eleven. Was Sirius sleeping? Was he unaware that Harry needed him? Or was it that he _couldn't_ answer… had Hogwarts fallen under attack? _Was Sirius_ –

Harry shook his head violently, unable to finish the thought. No, it couldn't be. Hogwarts _could not_ fall.

"Sirius!" he called urgently, focusing on the projector with everything he had. Sirius had to answer. _He had to._

On his third frantic try, the blue dome finally glowed into being above the disc, and Sirius's face appeared within it, his hair slightly disheveled.

"Sirius!" Harry gasped, dropping down heavily onto the small couch behind him. Relief rendered him momentarily speechless.

"Harry, what's happened? What's wrong?" Sirius said, pushing his tousled hair out of his eyes. He focused on his godson with concern.

"Voldemort!" Harry said. "He's taken them. Daniyel and Ron and Hermione. He's got them at Shadow Hogwarts, Sirius!"

"Another dream?" Sirius said.

"Yes!" Harry said urgently. "He's got Ron and Hermione hostage… using Dan for some kind of… some kind of ceremony. The Union! _I've seen it before,_ Sirius. I think I was there before. The night my scar bled. But it won't work, because Dan's not the Heir of Gryffindor, Sirius. _I am._ And once Voldemort figures it out, he'll kill him. He'll kill all of them. We have to find them, _right now_!"

Robert stood beside the door in silence. The blood had drained from his face, and his eyes were wide and afraid.

"Harry, calm down!" Sirius said rationally. "You saw the Union? But you think you've seen it before? Then how can you be sure it's happening right now? Hogwarts hasn't been attacked. If Daniyel, Ron, or Hermione were missing, surely we'd know."

"I can _feel it_ , Sirius," Harry insisted urgently. " _It's happening now!_ They're in danger."

"Did you see them being taken?"

"No, I saw them at Shadow Hogwarts. I saw Voldemort walking through the forest again. The hostage – _it was Dan_! He's really hurt. The Union didn't work. They've thrown them all in the dungeons. They're going to try again. _Tonight!_ He said he didn't want to wait anymore. They're–"

"OK," Sirius said calmly, "Harry, listen to me. Don't do anything stupid. I'm going to find Dumbledore, right now, and look into this. I'll see if Ron, Hermione, and Daniyel are here. I need you to try to calm down, and _wait until I call you back_."

"Bloody hell," Harry growled. "Voldemort's hurting them, _right now_. Don't you believe me?"

"Of course, I believe you saw something," Sirius said. "But we don't know what it means, or if anything's even happened yet. You've seen Voldemort walk through that forest before, Harry. You need to trust me now. We can't do anything until we know what's happening. _And there's nothing you can do from there._ Do you understand?"

"Fine," Harry snapped, his hands balling into fists, "just hurry! He said he wanted it done tonight."

"I'm going now, Harry, hang tight."

Sirius vanished, and Harry nearly chucked the projector at the wall in frustration. _Ron. Hermione. Daniyel._ If Voldemort truly had them now, and Harry was sure that he did, he couldn't just stand by. He would have to find a way back. The Spell of Return… he paused, considering it. _Would it work?_

"Harry?" Robert said, his voice shaking slightly.

Harry glanced up at him, saw the fear he felt for his friends reflected in Robert's eyes.

"I'm not going to let them be killed," he said. Saying it made him feel less powerless, somehow. Anything was better than doing nothing.

"What can you do?"

"The spell," Harry said quietly. "I'm going to have to try it and hope it takes me to Daniyel."

"And then what?"

"I don't know," Harry said truthfully. He stood up, paced the trailer restlessly. "I'll figure something out."

He reached into his pocket again and clenched his fingers around his wand. Voldemort had nearly murdered him last time. And the time before that. He needed a plan. _What could he do differently?_

"Harry, you should wait for Sirius to call back before you do anything."

Harry paused, staring at Robert.

"Sirius is right," Robert continued. "You need to know what's happening. And Professor Dumbledore told you not to use the spell unless Dan and Voldemort are actively fighting. You _don't know_ what could happen otherwise. This isn't what you planned for at all. You can't just rush in unprepared!"

"Rob," Harry said urgently, "Dumbledore and Sirius _don't know_ where Shadow Hogwarts is. There's no way they can get there in time, and if no one comes, Voldemort is going to _kill_ Ron, Hermione, _and Daniyel_."

"You still need a plan, Harry! What good will it do if you just walk in there and sacrifice yourself? You think he'll spare them once he's got you? _And what about Ella?_ "

Harry took a deep breath and let it out in a shaky sigh. He dropped back onto the couch, the energy draining out of him. A fist clenched painfully over his heart. _Ella_. Did he have time to find her? _To say goodbye?_

Robert was right, he realized. He had a record of acting rashly… and Sirius had asked him to wait. Sirius had asked Harry to trust him. Harry slowly put the wand down with a shaking hand.

Just then there was a knock on the trailer door. Harry whipped his head toward it anxiously, and Robert, who was closest, reached for the door and unlocked it. Ella stepped into the trailer, her hair windswept.

"There you are," she said, looking around at them curiously. "I was wondering where you got off to… what is it?"

"Ella," Robert said quietly, giving her a significant glance. " _It's time._ "

* * *

"They're gone!" Professor McGonagall's voice broke through its usual composure as she burst into Dumbledore's office. Sirius and Dumbledore turned to her, their faces grave. "It is as you feared, Albus. Potter, Weasley, and Granger are missing!"

"Who saw them last?" Dumbledore said into the silence that followed.

"Ginny Weasley. She saw her brother and Hermione Granger walking along the grounds shortly before sunset. And no one can recall seeing Potter since dinner."

Sirius paled at her words. "I'll search the grounds," he said hurriedly. "It'll be fastest." He transformed into the shaggy black dog and bounded past them and out the door.

"Did you sense a disruption in the wards?" Dumbledore said softly, once the door banged shut behind Padfoot.

"No," Professor McGonagall said, "they are intact."

"Then if Voldemort has indeed taken them, someone had to have disabled them."

"Only someone at Hogwarts could have done–" she gasped.

"I'm afraid so," Dumbledore said calmly. He glanced around the office, his face grim. "We must convene the Order immediately. It has only just happened – they will not expect us to be aware. Round up the guard: see who is missing.

"And, Minerva, I'm afraid there's something you should know."

* * *

Padfoot tore across the grounds, his nose practically pressed into the lawn as he searched frantically for the scents of Daniyel, Ron, and Hermione. He found a scent trail, only a few hours old, as he neared the bushes along the lake. He pushed forward, branches tearing roughly at his fur, until he emerged on the other side and found himself in a partially obscured clearing on the edge of the water.

The scents that assaulted his nose here were so strong that he whined, lost himself for a moment.

The scents of Daniyel, Ron, and Hermione were prevalent among the grass, but they were intermingled with the scents of many others: scents of strangers, and scents he remembered – with an icy fear – from Azkaban. Worse yet, traces of recently used magic hung heavily upon the air. A battle had broken out here. Spells had been thrown about. There had been pain here. And blood. And from within the tangle of smells, he could sense something else – something that wasn't altogether human… something that made his blood run cold.

And there was one more scent – agonizingly familiar.

He followed the smells to the water, where they cut off abruptly. There were traces of blood upon the ground. The fur on his back stood on end. There was no time to waste. He had to get back to Dumbledore.

He stumbled upon it as he raced back through the clearing: an abandoned wand lying in the grass. A feeling of dread engulfed him as he picked it up carefully in his jaws and rushed back towards the castle.

They were gone. And he had no idea how to get them back.

* * *

"Are you sure, Harry?" Ella said in a shaking voice. Her face was pale white in the dim incandescent light of the trailer.

"I am," he said quietly. There was no question about it. No Dream Guard Charm to screen his nightmares this time. For the first time in weeks, he was confronted with the raw, undiluted power of his dreams, exactly as they were, and he understood them implicitly. What they were showing him. What they wanted. They were a part of him at the deepest level.

Ella glanced at Robert, who touched her arm softly. "We understand," she said, her voice level.

She stepped further into the trailer, until she stood before Harry. Robert was silent. Harry looked into the layers of her eyes, which were deep brown pools of emotion. This was it, then. The moment he had been anticipating. Dreading. He didn't think he would come back, even if he made it out alive. He wasn't sure they'd ever talk again.

"Ella..." he murmured, "I–"

Just then the projector glowed warm in his hand, and he started, the moment broken. He fumbled for it quickly as Ella stood by in silence. It hung heavy in the trailer.

Sirius's pale face filled the blue dome. One glance at him confirmed everything.

"They're gone?" Harry said heavily.

"I'm sorry, Harry, you were right," Sirius said. He grimaced, and then slowly lifted his hand into view. Daniyel's wand lay in his palm. Harry's stomach clenched painfully. _Not even a wand to defend himself with._

"This was by the lake," Sirius said quietly.

Harry nodded. A cold resolve had fallen over him. He raised this hand. "Give it here, Sirius." His voice was calm, settled with the steely determination of what he knew had to come next.

"Harry!" Sirius said. "You can't be planning to–"

With an effort of will, Harry focused on the wand, reached forward, and grabbed it out of Sirius's hand. He drew back, the wood warm in his fingers. Sirius gaped at him.

"I'm sorry, Sirius."

He lowered the projector, prepared to break the connection, when he heard another voice speak softly. Dumbledore.

"Harry, to have the courage to do what must be done, you must remember that you do not walk alone."

Harry glanced back at Dumbledore's face, which had appeared beside Sirius's in the dome. He looked calm, and his clear blue eyes were locked on Harry's. Sirius was looking desperately between them.

"Magic is strength," Dumbledore said. "Knowledge is strength. Voldemort has these things. But he does not have friendship. And friendship is also strength, Harry. Stronger perhaps, than anything else."

"Dumbledore, he's not ready!" Sirius hissed. "You can't expect him to – we don't even know where they are! Harry, we're looking for them! I'm your godfather, I won't allow this!"

He grasped at Harry's arm, his fingers closing around empty air. Harry felt the fist around his heart clench tighter.

"I'll see you soon, Sirius," he said, his voice somewhat shaky. He didn't think he could say anything more. He looked at them one last time: Dumbledore, serene and all-knowing – prepared to stand back and let events unfold as they would; and Sirius: his face pale, a desperate realization in his eyes that Harry was going; was going, and there was nothing he could do to stop it or to help him.

"Harry…" Sirius said weakly. "I'll find you. Just hold on. You won't be there alone."

"I know you will," Harry said. "Thank you." The corners of his mouth lifted into a tiny smile, just for Sirius – Sirius, who had always been there, no matter what, when nobody else had been. Yes, he was thankful.

He loosened his fingers, letting go of the disc before he lost the courage to walk the path that lay before him. The blue dome winked out as it fell softly onto the couch. The trailer became darker. Colder.

He collected himself for a moment, and then glanced up at Ella and Robert, who stood in silence beside the door. It was time.

"Right," he said abruptly. He slipped Daniyel's wand into his pocket and pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment. There was no point in wasting time now. Every moment he spent here allowed things to escalate further at Shadow Hogwarts. He would have to figure it out along the way. "I've gotta go. I can't leave them. Thank you both for everything… all these months. I'll go, and I'll find Dan, and I'll – I'll get him back, all right?"

"Of course, you have to do it," Ella said softly. She held him in a level gaze, her brown eyes sad but unflinching in her pale face, and Harry appreciated her understanding. Her candor. "It's who you are, Harry. And they need you."

"Thank you," he whispered. He looked down abruptly. His heart was tightening painfully in his chest. He hadn't expected this to happen so soon, or so suddenly. And he wasn't sure he could say goodbye.

"Cover for Dan here?" he said instead.

"Can't," Ella said matter-of-factly. He glanced back up at her. Her face was set.

"You can't?"

"No," she said seriously, "I can't, Harry. Because I'm coming with you."

"And so am I," Robert said.

Harry gaped at them, completely stunned. "What? Of course you aren't."

"No, Harry, we are," Ella said. "What do you think you've been training me for all this time?"

"Training?! Are you serious? I haven't been–"

"You can't do this alone, Harry," Robert added. "You haven't got a plan or anything. What do you expect to even do once you get there?"

"Rob and I've discussed this at length already, Harry, and it's long been decided. Since we met, really."

"Stop!" Harry said. He stared at Ella and Robert in shock, and they looked back at him seriously. Their faces were set in determination. "Look, I appreciate this and all, but you can't come. This isn't a scene from the movie, where we can just get another take if we mess up! This is real life, Ella. Rob. Voldemort is out there, with _real magic_ , planning real murder."

"We know," Ella said seriously, looking straight into his eyes. "That's why we're coming. You need our help, Harry."

"Look!" Harry said angrily, his voice rising. _There wasn't time for this._ He turned to Ella. "You've only been doing magic for a few weeks. I'm sorry, you're just not ready for something like this"– he glanced at Rob – "and you can't even do magic at all! If you come, there's a very real chance you'll both get hurt, or worse. _I can't!_ And that's beside the point, anyway! I don't even know if you _can_ come, or how you'd get back. No… this is mental. Please, don't make this harder than it needs to be. We all knew this was coming. Just–"

Ella stepped forward and abruptly threw her arms around him. "Dumbledore," she said softly, as he stood there in stunned silence, "just told you that friendship is strength. That you won't do this alone."

"Yeah," said Harry roughly, finding his voice again, "but I doubt he meant–"

"We know what's at stake," Robert said, looking tactfully off to the side as Ella held on to Harry. "Dan's out there, remember. We can't just leave him. Don't worry; we won't hold you back. We're _coming_ , Harry."

"That's right," Ella said. She drew back from Harry, still holding his hands in both of hers.

"I can't put you in danger," Harry said, shaking his head. He slipped his hands out of Ella's grip and glanced away.

"That's not your choice to make," Robert said.

"So stop throwing a tantrum already and get on with it," Ella added. "This is happening."

Harry glared at them both. Bringing them to face off with Voldemort was insane – it couldn't possibly happen. As he stared at their determined faces, he let his mind imagine, for a terrified second, what the consequences of bringing them along could be. He couldn't be responsible for that. The thought was enough to turn his blood cold. But they were wasting time. Time he was sure Daniyel, Ron, and Hermione didn't have. And on top of that, the crew would be coming to look for them soon. He needed to be gone by then. He cursed silently.

"What do you expect to do, if you come with me?" he said, his voice ragged. He looked at them both seriously, impressing the gravity of the situation upon them.

"We expect to help, Harry," Ella said, folding her arms across her chest and staring him down, "however we can. I've got my magic. You know what I can do. You're going to need backup."

"You do," Harry allowed, forcing away thoughts of Ella trying to stand her own against Voldemort, and turned to Robert, "but Rob _, you don't_. Ella makes a halfway solid argument, but without magic, you'd just be a liability. No offense."

"Harry," Robert said seriously, "I might not have magic, but I've been taking fencing classes _since I was five._ I do half my own stunts. You may have forgotten, but you defeated the Basilisk with a sword, not a wand. Don't worry about me. Besides _,_ as for what we expect to do…You can't even answer that yourself, can you?

"If it comes to a full-out fight… one of you, or even three of us, against Voldemort and a castle full of his most devoted followers is _not_ going to go well, no matter how you split the maths. Even if we're all as skilled with magic as you are.

"You said they're all in the dungeons? We need to get in there and get out, quietly and without being seen. Before they figure out whatever went wrong with their Union and try it again. This doesn't have to be the epic final battle you imagine. You can save that for later."

"That…" Harry said, staring at him. "Those are good points."

"I know they are," Robert said, exasperated. "And _that's_ why you need me. You're both a bit lacking in the planning department. Now let's go. We're wasting time!"

The three of them stared at each other momentarily. Harry considered this. If they could get around without being seen… Voldemort already had Daniyel, Ron, and Hermione in his clutches. He wouldn't be expecting their doubles to run amok around the castle. Maybe it could be done as Robert said. His eyes flicked to digital clock and, as he watched, the numbers shifted from 12:21AM to 12:22.

He couldn't waste any more time.

"All right," Harry said heavily. " _OK_. Together. If the spell even works."

He unrolled the parchment he had been holding so tightly that creases had appeared along its length and glanced at the words once more, before passing it to Robert and Ella.

"Read this over. We'll say it together. And also…" he glanced around the trailer as Robert and Ella pored over the parchment until he saw a bundle of spare wands sitting in a cardboard box by the small window. He approached it and rummaged through them. Wood and metal. It would do.

" _Telum Verto!_ " he muttered, raising his wand and closing his eyes as he concentrated on the image in his mind. A bright bluish glow surrounded the wands, and they rose up, melding together in a beautiful dance of wood and steel. Robert and Ella glanced up and stared in awe as five wands formed gracefully into small sword and scabbard. It was thin, single edged, and had an extremely pointy end. The blade shimmered in the fading blue glow of magic before it clattered to the floor.

"Woah," Ella said, as Harry reached to pick it up. He eyed his handiwork, slipped it into the scabbard, and, with a feeling of trepidation, tossed it to Robert, who caught it easily.

"There you are. Just in case."

Robert slipped the sword halfway out of its sheath and looked it over. "This is nice. Thanks, mate."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know how well it'll hold up… don't use it too much. Or at all, if you can help it."

_Bloody hell, he hoped Robert wouldn't have to use it at all._

Ella laughed nervously and lowered the parchment. "We're ready, Harry."

Harry nodded and stepped over to them. He slipped his wand back into his pocket as Robert belted the sword around his waist. His cloak obscured it from sight.

"Got everything?" Harry said, picking up the projector. "Right, let's do it. I'll bring this along. Hopefully we'll figure out where we are and then we can reach Sirius and Dumbledore."

"Good idea!" Ella said. "See, Harry, you're totally a good planner."

Robert rolled his eyes.

"On three, then?" Harry said nervously. "If this doesn't work, I just want you both to know that–"

"Shut it, Harry!" Ella said.

"All right," he said, smiling slightly. Despite his misgiving, of which there were many, there was something to be said for not walking into this alone. Their strength gave him more courage than he could have imagined – he only hoped they wouldn't pay for it with their lives. He held out his hands to each of them, and Ella grasped his left hand tightly, her soft palm closing over his own. Robert grabbed hold of his other hand, and reached out to Ella. Together, they stood in a circle. "One…" Harry muttered. "Two… Three."

Their voices rang out together in a soft harmony.

" _Nos coepi usque. Hoc nobis unum finem. Accipe me ad me…_ "

A wind began to blow around them, gathering strength, and causing their robes to flap violently. Various trappings around the trailer slid off the tables and counters they had been resting upon and tumbled to the floor. A white glow shimmered into being around them, slowly obscuring their surroundings.

" _... Accipe me ad me…_ "

The wind became more violent. Ella's bushy hair momentarily obscured his face, and when it shifted, they were in a cloud of swirling white and black mist.

" _... Accipe me ad me…_ "

They murmured the last refrain, and the wind tore at them with brutal strength. Harry could barely see their faces for the mist. He stared around wildly, and before he could react, Robert's hand was abruptly ripped from his grasp.

"Rob!" he gasped. He heard a soft scream and fumbled to hold on to Ella, and the projector slipped from his fingers. It vanished instantly into the mist. He barely had time to react before an enormous force threw him backwards, and suddenly he was twirling through the unending whiteness. The fingers that had held on to Ella clutched only air.

"Ella!" he screamed, his voice catching in his throat. "Rob!" He couldn't hear his own voice over the wind.

There was no answer. The sound of the wind was deafening in his ears. He whirled around, terrified. They were gone. _What had he done?_

He was suspended in the whiteness, his robes still flapping. He wasn't sure if he was standing or falling. He didn't know which way was up. He wasn't sure how long he spent in this state. It could have been seconds, or hours, or days. Suddenly the mist cleared, and he found that he was looking down on a familiar scene.

He recognized the familiar outline of Hogwarts immediately, even in the night. The warm glow of the windows practically screamed at him with nostalgia. Until tonight, he would have given anything to see it again. But as he rushed toward it, the castle growing larger, he wanted to scream that no, this was wrong, this wasn't where he needed to be.

Suddenly, he was over the grounds, and he saw, from up above, a light show erupting on the grounds beside the lake. There were red and green sparks. Blue and white streaks. Gold explosions. For a foolish moment, he thought they were fireworks. They lit up the night, and the surface of the lake glowed with their reflections.

And then he saw him: Voldemort. He was advancing on a dark-haired figure, who stumbled back, a shaky wand raised in his hand. As Harry watched, with sudden understanding, Voldemort sent a jet of green light at the figure – _at Harry_ – who raised his wand at the last moment, and a bright white shield glowed into life around him. As the jet of green soared toward the shield, another jet of white light streaked out of the trees at the edge of the forest and joined the fray. Both jets of light collided with the shield simultaneously, and an explosion violently rocked the grounds, bleeding bright white across his vision.

Harry was pitched backwards, flung through the air again. He hurtled through space and time, until the whiteness dimmed around him, and he felt himself falling. He found the ground abruptly. Silently. Painlessly. One second he was weightless, and the next he was laying on cold, hard stone. He could feel the roughness of it beneath his fingers and his cheek. It was pitch black around him, and freezing cold.

He raised his head slowly and stared around with wide unseeing eyes. He kept his breathing silent. Imperceptible. He trained his ears for the slightest sound, trying to get a sense of his surroundings. For a second, he thought he was entirely alone. But then, as seconds passed in agonizing slowness, he began to make out the sounds of ragged breathing from somewhere to his right.

Harry rose silently to his feet and crept closer to the source of the sound, clutching his wand in slightly sweaty fingers. He could see nothing. The room was otherwise silent, and seemingly deserted. Making a snap decision, he raised his wand and whispered, " _Lumos!_ "

The narrow beam of light broke though the chill air, momentarily blinding him, and fell upon a cracked, filthy stone floor, which was crumbling with age. Harry slowly moved his hand, trailing the light across the ground, until the edge of it touched upon the frayed edges of a black cloak.

His heart catching in his throat, he stepped hurriedly forward and dropped down beside the fallen shape of a boy who, beneath the mask of dirt, and bruises, and blood, looked unmistakably like his reflection.

"Daniyel," Harry whispered, as he reached out a hand and touched his arm. He was cold as ice. "Dan!"

Daniyel did not stir, and Harry was momentarily overcome with panic. He had found Daniyel, but he had lost both Ella and Robert. He had lost the projector – his only link to Sirius and Dumbledore. He didn't know where or how to find Ron or Hermione.

_What the bloody hell was he supposed to do now?_


	24. With and Without

**Chapter Twenty-Four:**

_With and Without_

.

Harry took a deep breath and focused on Daniyel; he had to start somewhere. He swept the narrow beam of light over Daniyel's limp form, casting his various injuries into sharp relief. It looked worse even than what he had seen in the dream. The metallic smell of blood hung thick upon the air, threatening to overwhelm him.

He had to hurry.

" _Rennervate!_ " he muttered, carefully concentrating on the spell. There was no response. Harry cursed silently. _Now what?_

He had never used the spell in practice before. Either he had not done it properly, or the alternative – which was a chilling thought to consider – was that Daniyel was just too injured for a simple Reviving Spell to be effective. And if that was the case… a cold wave of panic swept over Harry again. If that was the case, he wasn't sure he could get Daniyel out of here on his own.

" _Rennervate!_ " he said again, more forcefully. The response – or lack thereof – from Daniyel was the same, but as the energy of the spell washed over Daniyel, Harry concurrently felt something freezing-cold and rather sharp nearly stab into his leg. Stunned, he stumbled back and thrust a hand into his robes to remove… _Daniyel's wand._

The long wand had turned an icy cold, and it was giving off an incandescent blue glow in the dark cell. As Harry stared at it with wide eyes, he could practically see the energy pulsing around it. Before he could think twice, he gripped both wands in hand, aimed them at Daniyel, and hissed " _Rennervate!_ " one last time.

To his relief, Daniyel's eyes blinked open and he moaned softly, curling in upon himself on the stone floor, turning his face away from the light.

"No…" he whispered weakly.

"Dan!" Harry murmured, leaning down in concern. "It's all right. It's Harry. Can you hear me?"

Daniyel stared up at him blearily, his eyes unfocused. His whole body was shaking. "Harry? What…"

"Yes!" Harry said urgently. "It's really me. I know he's hurt you… but we need to get out of here. Can you stand?"

"How can it… be you…?" Daniyel mumbled. "You're…"

"Here," Harry supplied. "I'm _really_ here. And we're leaving. Look, I've got your wand..."

He shoved the wand at Daniyel, who instinctively clasped his shaking fingers around it. As he did so, Harry felt a surge of warmth gush though the icy wood. He loosened his grip on the wand in surprise, and Daniyel's fingers clenched around it with sudden strength. He raised his head, staring at Harry in wonder, and clambered to a sitting position. He was still covered in blood and bruises, and his breathing was ragged, but his eyes had grown alert and focused.

"Harry!" he gasped, as if seeing him for the first time. "Is that you? What are you doing here? How – What?"

Harry rocked back onto his heels, staring at Daniyel with surprise, unsure as to why or how the wand could have provided him with so much energy. "It's me," he repeated finally. "I used Dumbledore's spell and it brought me here. We've gotta get out of here…. Before Voldemort comes. Find Ron and Hermione… do you know where they are?"

"No," Daniyel mumbled, "I haven't seen them since they took me here… But, Harry, I don't understand how–"

"I'll explain later," Harry said hurriedly. "But right now we have to go. I dunno how much time we have. Come on…"

He scrambled up and extended a hand to Daniyel, pulling him to his feet. Daniyel swayed unsteadily and Harry grabbed his arm, but he didn't fall. The wand, which was still glowing faintly, seemed to be instilling him with strength, and he clutched at it like a lifeline.

Harry crept silently towards the door, sweeping the narrow beam of his wand across the worn stone floor before him.

"Do you know," he whispered, "if someone's watching the door?"

Daniyel shook his head silently.

"Right," Harry said. He raised his wand and pointed it at the door. "Best be ready for anything then… _Alohomora!_ "

The door creaked slowly open with a sound so loud he could have sworn it echoed throughout the entire castle. Harry held his breath, wand raised, but there was no uproar. No shouts. No hexes hurled in their direction. He pushed at the door and flung himself around it in one abrupt motion. The passage was empty. He let out a relieved breath.

"Come on…" he whispered, and stood back so that Daniyel could step out past him. Harry glanced back into the cell, pushed the door shut, and whispered " _Colloportus!_ " causing it to lock behind them. Then he glanced up and down the passage.

It was dark and long, with cracked stone floors, and walls, and ceiling, and extended in both directions. He could see other doors, similar to the one they had just closed, stretching out on either side. Harry hesitated, unsure of where to go. Ron and Hermione could be behind any of those doors. It made sense that the Death Eaters would hold them all nearby. He gazed around again – he might as well pick a side. They were wasting time.

"This way," he whispered, and turned towards the left. Something about the darkness of the passage felt less cold there, less concrete, and he hoped it was somehow Ron and Hermione's presence, calling out to him through the thick layers of stone between. Daniyel followed silently, his breath barely a whisper.

They had gone barely a dozen paces when Harry heard echoing footsteps up ahead. He froze, glancing at Daniyel, who stared back, his face pale. " _Nox!_ " Harry whispered hurriedly, and they were plunged into darkness. They pressed back against the wall, the blackness around them absolute, and waited with baited breath.

The footsteps drew closer, and suddenly the torches at the other end of the passage flared into life. Harry and Daniyel drew back into the shadows as they watched two hooded figures draw nearer. Torches continued to burst into flame ahead of them to light their path as they strode purposely forward, and Harry knew he had only moments before they were spotted. He raised his wand, waiting. His heart was pounding anxiously in his ears, nearly drowning out the sound of their footfalls. _They were almost level._

The torch closest to where they stood waiting burst to life and, as the figures stumbled to a halt, gaping at them with shock, Harry hissed " _Stupefy!_ " before they could raise their wands. The Stunning Spell hit one of them, and with a muffled gasp, the hooded figure collapsed to the floor. The second was quicker on the uptake. He cursed violently and jumped aside, avoiding Daniyel's Stunner, and slashed his wand aggressively at the air. A sharp gust of wind blew at Harry and Daniyel, simultaneously throwing them back and slicing at their robes, as if the twister contained a thousand tiny knives. Harry's back slammed into the wall. He barely felt it for the adrenaline, but the impact knocked the wind out of him.

" _Protego!_ " Harry gasped, and the dome of his Shield Charm burst into life around them. The wind blew past it, bending slightly around the white dome, carving out cracks in the stone wall behind them with a terrible screech. Harry panted, trying to regain his breath as the Death Eater stepped closer, his wand trained on them. The edges of the dome began to crack as Harry strained to keep it in place. Just then, Daniyel stepped past Harry, fresh blood trailing down his face, raised his wand, and cried " _Petrificus Totalus!_ "

The Death Eater tried to deflect it, but he had been too focused on maintaining the force of the windstorm, and the spell hit him in the chest. He collapsed to the floor, his body rigid. The wind subsided, and Harry dropped the remains of the shield, falling to one knee.

"Nice one!" he panted.

"You too." Daniyel extended a hand and pulled Harry back to his feet. They glanced around nervously. The fight had made quite a racket in the passage. Harry was surprised that more Death Eaters weren't converging on them in droves. They had managed to take these two mostly unaware without considerable effort, but somehow he didn't think they'd be so lucky a second time.

They walked to the immobilized man, and with a jerk of his hand, Harry ripped off his hood. The main had dark hair that reached his shoulders and a narrow face. Harry didn't recognize him. The man stared up at them with wide eyes, as if he couldn't quite comprehend why there were two Harrys, or how they had managed to overpower him. Harry wrenched the man's wand out of his stiff fingers and pocketed it.

"What should we do with them?" Daniyel said. "They might've been down here for me… you, technically. If they don't come back soon…"

Harry looked between the two hooded figures on the ground, and then at Daniyel.

"I've got an idea…"

* * *

Hermione shivered violently as she stared unseeingly about the dark room. Her arms, locked to the wall behind her, throbbed painfully. Her muscles had been screaming for hours. Her mind, which had been working furiously since the moment the Death Eaters had locked them up in this putrid dungeon, had proved to be shockingly useless. Every half-formed idea she had contemplated had fallen short. For the first time, Hermione Granger was at a loss.

"Ron," she gasped, shifting her head very slightly in his direction. "We have to do something…"

"Like what?" he grunted, his voice ragged. She heard the rustling of robes as he shifted in place. "I can barely move, Hermione."

"I know. But if we don't figure something out, Voldemort's going to _kill_ Dan…" The thought filled her with cold dread. They couldn't let it happen.

Ron made a grunting sound as he struggled against his holds. "These bloody – holding spells," he gasped, "I can't–"

"Ron, listen," she said, "I have my wand."

"What?"

"It's in my boot!" Hermione hissed. "If we can just get it…"

She trailed off. It was, of course, another useless idea. If she had been able to reach it, they wouldn't be in this predicament.

"I don't know how to get it," she amended, "but if we _could_ get it…" _How_ could they get it? This had been the crux of her contemplations for the past two hours. Her foot was frozen in place, and by now it was so numb with cold, she could barely feel it.

"Hermione," Ron said softly, "unless something changes, I don't think we're going to be able to get your wand."

She felt a surge of sadness at his matter-of-fact tone, as if a Dementor had just entered the room. Tears flooded her eyes, and she let out a choked sob.

"Hermione…" Ron said weakly.

"How did this happen?" she gasped, the tears falling freely down her face. She couldn't move her hands to wipe them and they trailed over her lips. She tasted salt. "How could Arabella betray us? _How did everything fall apart like this?_ "

"I don't know," Ron mumbled, "but it's going to be OK. Somehow."

"How is it _possibly_ going to be OK?" she hissed. "We're trapped in a dungeon, we can't move, and we're probably going to freeze to death if they don't kill us first, and Dan's out there, probably getting tortured or… or sacrificed for some ritual!"

"Hermione…" Ron said again, his voice breaking. "You're the greatest witch of our age. And if anyone can figure this out, _it's you_."

She laughed at that, the memory pushing some of the darkness away. "I didn't expect you to rely on me in a crisis, Ron. Last time this happened, you accused me of losing my head. If you recall."

" _There's no wood_ ," Ron recited, and she could hear the smile breaking into his voice. " _Honestly_. But _you're_ the one who saved us, Hermione. Harry and I would've been done for without you."

"We did it together," Hermione said. A tiny spark of warmth glowed to life in her chest. Was she really giving up? It wasn't her way.

"Together," Ron repeated. "And we can figure this out together too. Or _you_ can figure it out, and I'll be your cheering squad. _Think_ , Hermione… how the bloody hell can we get out of this, without a wand?"

She paused, thought about it again, the tears drying on her face in the freezing air. They wouldn't be able to get out of this with physical force alone, which left only magic. And to use magic, she needed a wand. Without a wand she… Hermione paused. _Of course_. _It was so simple!_

"Wandless magic!" she gasped.

At least, it was simple in theory…

"Wandless magic?" Ron repeated. "Can you do that? Only children, or really powerful wizards can–"

"I haven't actually done it," Hermione said. "It's N.E.W.T. level – seventh year curriculum. I haven't really read quite that far ahead…"– Ron rolled his eyes in a wasted effort that Hermione didn't see – "It requires the utmost skill and discipline to control," she continued, falling back into the familiar pattern of speaking as if she had swallowed a textbook. "The wand is a European invention and there are many magical schools in other countries that work with wandless magic from the start… in Africa and parts of the United States for example… but as we know it, it's mostly done by children on a very instinctual level, before they can control it, or by incredibly powerful witches and wizards… or by anyone in – _in moments of great danger_ …"

"I would say," Ron said reasonably, "that we're definitely in great danger. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I think," Hermione said slowly, "that it's probably tied to the adrenal glands… An instinctive reaction, if you will. And it comes more easily to some than others. I don't know if the circumstances right now quite qualify, but…"

"So it's no good?" Ron said, his voice crestfallen.

"Don't be silly!" she said. "I know the theory. I'm going to give it a go, of course."

She shut her eyes – a mostly empty gesture, since she couldn't see anything either way – and focused with all her might on the flow of magical energy within her. She visualized the connecting points of the body's magical system – the way the magic ebbed and flowed between them. Everything was connected. _Everything_. Her hands had stopped shaking. She opened her mouth. For a second, she didn't feel cold. She visualized her wand in her boot, focused on the reservoir of magic in her right hand, and whispered, _"Accio wand!_ "

To her surprise, the wand shot out of her boot and jammed itself firmly into her hand. Her numb fingers struggled to grasp it. _"Relashio!_ " she gasped, jabbing the wand at the invisible holds pressing her to the wall. They vanished, and without their support she plunged suddenly to the ground, hitting it with a loud thud.

"Hermione!" Ron cried. "What happened?!"

She lay on the ground, panting, her aching limbs numb and mostly unresponsive. Her hands were trembling violently, and she felt the stabbing pain of a thousand needles as the blood began to flow back into them. "It worked!" she gasped, raising her head slightly off the stone floor. Her lip was stinging, and she thought she tasted blood. "Ron, _it worked!_ "

"Brilliant!" he said. "I could kiss you!"

Her cheeks flushed a violent red, and for a second she was thankful for the total darkness of the cell.

"H-how about we get out of here alive first before we celebrate?" she suggested. "Just give me a second, I can't feel my hands…"

She tested out her arms, which were still full of pins and needles. Her fingers felt as if they had swollen to twice their usual size. She made a shaking motion with her arms and nearly moaned, gritting her teeth against the sudden pain and regretting it immediately.

Just then, she heard a muffled murmur from the direction of the door, followed by the unmistakable click of lock working its way open. The blood drained from her face.

"Hermione!" Ron hissed. "Hurry!"

"I–" she gasped in a panicked whisper. She fumbled clumsily with the wand and it slipped from her grasp. "No, no!" She reached for it blindly, banging her half-functioning fingers against the stone floor, each impact shooting darts of pain down her arm.

The door creaked open.

Hermione looked up in panicked terror, the sudden bright lights of the flaming torches burning at her eyes. She vaguely saw the outlines of two people in the doorway silhouetted against the light that was literally stabbing into her eyeballs.

"What the hell!" a man's voice said. "The Mudblood's free!"

"Stun her!" the other voice, a woman, said urgently. "What are you waiting for?"

"Hermione!" Ron yelled.

For a second, Hermione literally felt like she couldn't breathe. Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears, and an overwhelming shame washed over her as she gasped wordlessly. She had been so close. They had almost made it. But she had failed, and now it was too late. And her mind was completely blank. She almost wanted to cry again. _But that would be the end of them both._

With a huge effort of will, she reached out for her wand again, and her fingers closed around it.

" _Protego!_ " she cried, as the first Death Eater sent a Stunner her way. Fueled by her terror, the shield erupted with tremendous force. The Stunning Spell rebounded wildly off to the side, gouging out a large crevasse in the wall of the cell and pelting them all with chunks of errant stone. They bounced off her shield. She stumbled up on shaky legs, holding the shield around her still as the Death Eaters surged into the room. She backed away as they advanced on her, until her back was pressed into the stone wall. She contemplated her options as they loomed closer. She would have to drop the shield if she wanted to attack – she couldn't maintain two spells at once. And there were two of them. Could she hit one before the other attacked her? And Ron was… Seized by a sudden cold fear, she whirled in his direction.

But it was too late. The female Death Eater had trained her wand upon Ron's throat.

"Drop the shield, Mudblood," she hissed. "Or I'll kill him _right now_."

Her heart stopped. She dropped the shield. Ron cursed violently.

"Excellent," the woman said, and Hermione could hear the cruel mockery in her voice. A bead of sweat slid down her neck. "Now, why don't we just behave like good little children and–"

A blinding light exploded abruptly within the small confines of the cell. For a terrified second, Hermione thought that they had done it anyway – had attacked Ron out of spite, but then a violent wind gusted suddenly into being, like a small tornado, and the Death Eaters staggered back, letting out cries of shock. Hermione was pressed back against the wall by the force of it, and as she squinted into the brightness, she thought she saw two shapes twisting inside it.

The light faded abruptly, and she was momentarily blind again in the residual darkness. When her eyes readjusted to the dim light that remained, she stared at the place where it had winked out and gasped in shock.

"Blimey!" Ron said.

Two people stood in the far corner of the room, staring around at the scene before them with calculating eyes. Two people who looked _exactly like her and Ron._

Hermione stared at them in disbelief. _Holy shit. Ella and Robert._


	25. In the Stacks

**Chapter Twenty-Five:**

_In the Stacks_

.

When she lost Harry in the swirling mist, Ella had screamed his name, called out to him and Robert as she tumbled through the heavy fog, entirely alone. There had been a truly terrifying instant when she was surrounded by mist on all sides, the tendrils closing in around her, forcing their way into her mouth and nose – obscuring her eyes. She had whirled about in a panic, gasping for breath, her hands empty. But she had known, even in that moment, that she would find her way out of the mist – that she would do what she was meant to do.

She had raised her hand before her, pushing the mist fitfully aside – as if it were solid – and as it thinned, she had glimpsed Robert's bright red hair in her peripheral vision. She fought her way over to him, grabbed hold of his hand, and, as they stood there together, the mist shot abruptly upwards, flaring out from them, dissolving into black.

They squinted into the newfound darkness, and as their eyes adjusted to the light, a shocking scene met their eyes.

Ella took one look around, from Ron – forced against the stone wall with binds she couldn't see – to Hermione, pressed back against the other wall, staring at them with wide eyes, with her wand clenched tightly in hand – and finally, to the two Death Eaters at the door, who were staring at them in frozen silence. Even as she watched, they moved into action, stumbling towards them. Adrenaline and fear flooded through her.

" _Bombarda!_ " she shouted, almost on instinct, extending her arm with her palm open wide. There was a tremendous bang and both Death Eaters were blasted backward with the force of a small explosion. They hit the wall across the passage and slid down to the floor, their bodies limp.

Ella whirled around, her breathing ragged and her heart beating frantically, staring at Ron and Hermione, who were both gaping at her with wide eyes.

"Blimey!" Ron said again, his voice dripping with relief. "Another overachiever."

"Are you both all right?" Robert said urgently. He hurried to Ron, trying to get a look at the invisible bindings. "What's going on here? Are you magicked into place?"

" _Relashio!_ " Hermione said quickly as she stepped away from the wall and pointed her wand at Ron. He plunged down to the floor, and Robert hastened to catch him before he hit the ground. Hermione lowered her wand and turned to Ella. "How are you here? Is Harry with you?"

"He _was_ with us," Ella said, calming down slightly and gingerly picking her way past the scattered chunks of stone across the floor as she stepped closer. "Harry saw you all here, in a dream. We used the Spell of Return together, but we – we lost him on the way..."

"Lost him?" Hermione squeaked. "How?"

"He's probably with Dan," Robert said as he glanced around the cell. "Dan's not with you, right?"

"No," Ron said weakly as he leaned heavily on Robert, "they've got him somewhere else."

"Of course, that makes sense," Hermione said, her voice growing calmer as she reasoned out the situation with logic. "You were taken to us, since we're your counterparts here, and Harry was probably taken to Daniyel, like Robert said. So we have to find Harry and Daniyel and then get out of here."

" _How_ do we get out of here?" Ron said, glancing between Robert and Ella. "Have you all got a plan?"

"Not sure yet, but probably not the way we came," Ella said, glancing past the door nervously. "I get the feeling it was kind of a one way ticket. But we need to move, I think all of Shadow Hogwarts probably heard us…"

"You're right," Hermione said. "We need to go. Ron, are you–"

"M'fine," Ron grunted. "Let's go."

They hurried out into the passage, where the Death Eaters still lay sprawled on the floor.

" _Incarcerous!_ " Hermione said hurriedly, and thin cords shot out of her wand, binding both Death Eaters tightly together. She reached down and scooped up their wands.

"I'll take one of those," Ron said, and she tossed him the longer of the two wands. He pocketed it quickly. She offered the other wand to Ella, who accepted it with a shrug and slid it into her robes.

"We should lock them in the cell," Hermione said, glancing back at the two Death Eaters. "No reason to leave a trail behind us."

"Good call," Ella agreed, as Hermione used a Hover Charm to levitate both Death Eaters into the dungeon room they had just vacated. "Wait – should we wake one up? Try and get some intel?"

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head abruptly as she shuddered. "They wouldn't tell us anyway. We should go, _before we're found_." She sealed the door behind the Death Eaters and turned to the face the others. "Come on."

They hurried down the passageway, glancing around nervously. Torches were lit intermittently along the way, and the gaps were filled with shadows that seemed to come alive in the darkness. They had barely gone a dozen paces before Robert stopped abruptly, bringing Ron to a halt.

"I think I hear something," he whispered.

Ella and Hermione paused, squinting into the distance. Ella could just make out the soft sounds of footfalls further up the passage.

"More Death Eaters!" Hermione gasped.

"In here!" Ella whispered hurriedly, gesturing at a large double door she had spotted just up ahead. Its brass plating was glistening slightly in the flickering flames of the torches. Robert pushed at it, and both sides swung inward with no resistance. They piled inside, and Ella gently pushed the doors shut behind them. Then they whirled around to stare at the room they had entered.

It was a large room, extending further out than they could see. It was crammed full of shelves, which rose up to the ceiling, stacked end to end with books. There was a soft blue glow within the place, as if it were coming from the books themselves. The whole room was suffused in it. Hermione gasped, taking a small step forward.

"Oh no," Ron said mildly.

Turning away, Ella pressed her ear to the door, listening closely, as Hermione stepped further into the room, her raised hand trailing inches away from one of the stacks.

"Hermione," Ron hissed, as he staggered over to a chair beside a small round table and sank into it gratefully, "seriously, step away from the library."

"I'm just looking, Ron."

"Shhh!" Ella hissed. "I think they're right outside…"

She backed away slightly and braced herself beside the door, glancing at Robert, who nodded once – his face pale – and stepped to the other side. As Ron and Hermione stared, he plunged a hand below his cloak and drew out a thin sword; it's sharp edge glinted in the blue light.

" _What?_ " Ron breathed incredulously.

Hermione stepped further into the cover of the stacks and raised her wand, pointing it at the door. Ron crouched behind the table, his wand aimed through the gap underneath it.

They stood there in silence, waiting, staring at the doors. Ella's heart pounded loudly in her ears. _Keep going_ , she prayed. _Don't come in here_.

Slowly, against all her wishes, the door began to creak open. She inhaled sharply, melting further into the shadows behind the door. Her hand trembled slightly as she raised it, running through potential spells in her mind. They couldn't make any more noise and give away their position. They would have to take them out quickly.

Two hooded figures stepped into the library, wands raised. Time slowed. The second they cleared the doors, Ella drew into herself, focused on the flow of magic within her body, and whispered, " _Immobulus!_ "

Purple light flared out from her palm, and the two figures halted, locked into place by her Freezing Charm. Robert stepped out from behind the other door and positioned the sword at their throats.

"Don't move," he said, unnecessarily. His hand was quite steady.

Ella edged around them and peered out into the passageway beyond. It was empty. Good. She leaned against the doors, closing them softly, and then circled back around to face the Death Eaters. Ron and Hermione slipped out of their hiding spots and advanced, wands raised, until the four of them had surrounded the Death Eaters from every angle. They appraised them in silence. Ella hesitated, unsure what to do next.

"Where's Harry?" Ron said aggressively, moving his wand between both figures with a slightly shaky hand.

" _Depulso!_ " Hermione said in a surprisingly calm voice, aiming her Banishing Charm at their hooded faces.

Ella gasped and lunged forward in relief as the masks flew aside. " _Harry! Dan!_ " Robert abruptly lowered the sword.

"Oh!" Hermione cried in shock. " _Finite!_ "

The four of them converged on Harry and Daniyel, as the two stumbled forward, freed from the Freezing Charm at last, and Ella threw her arms around them both, with Hermione close behind.

"Bloody hell!" Harry gasped, sagging under their combined weight, as they all burst into frenzied speech at once. "Are we happy to see you…"

"You're all covered with blood!" Ella gasped, staring at Dan. "Are you OK?!"

"Rob, is that a _sword_?"

"Oh my God, Harry, Dan, I can't believe it. Thank goodness!"

"Blimey, _why are you dressed like Death Eaters_?"

"Everyone, calm down," Robert said, and they fell into a sudden silence. He jammed the sword back into its sheath. "This is good, we're all together. Now we just need an escape plan… Is anyone else out there?"

"We didn't see anyone besides the Death Eaters we took these from," Harry said, stooping down to pick up his mask again. "We heard shouts and banging from down this way. Was that you?"

"Yeah," Ella confirmed, squeezing his fingers briefly before stepping away. "We took out two of them."

"Harry," Hermione said, still staring at him as if she couldn't quite believe her eyes, "I don't understand how you're here. Daniyel and Voldemort"– Ron inhaled sharply –"aren't fighting. _And how did you bring Ella and Robert?"_

"I dunno," Harry said, "maybe this is close enough? Dumbledore said…" He paused, contemplating it. "He basically told me to go ahead and do it. That this was it."

"He _did_?" Hermione said, relief seeping into her voice. "But then does he know where we are? Is the Order coming?"

"I – I don't think so," Harry said slowly. "I reckon we're on our own."

A short silence followed this pronouncement and they all glanced at each other somewhat nervously.

"Harry," Hermione said seriously, "I don't think we're in Britain anymore. When they took us away, they didn't just Apparate, they used a Portkey too. And it's freezing cold here. We must be somewhere really far north…"

"Russia," Daniyel said abruptly. They all turned to stare at him. He clenched his hand around his wand, which looked extremely pale in the blue glow of the library. "My wand's been pulsing with energy nonstop ever since Harry's handed it over. It was harvested in the Russian forests, Ollivander told me. This must be the place." He knew the words were true as soon as they left his mouth. His wand was more alive than he had ever felt it. He could sense the energy constantly flowing into his hand from the thin strip of wood, and was actively aware that it was the only thing keeping him going; the only thing keeping the pain of the last few hours at bay.

"But then," Ella said excitedly, "Harry, you can call Dumbledore! Tell him we think we're in Russia, and–"

"I can't," Harry said heavily, "I lost the projector on the way. I'm sorry."

"Shit…" Ella muttered.

"But can't we send one of those, you know, Patronus messages?" Ron offered. "Like Tonks."

"Oh, maybe," Harry began. "I haven't–"

"You _can't,"_ Hermione said, sounding slightly exasperated. "Not over that kind of distance. And besides, what if they saw it go?"

"Russia's a huge place," Robert said evenly. "Even if they know we're here, I don't know how much good that would do. Not unless they know our exact location. Either way, we need to find a way out of the castle first. Then we can figure out the rest…"

"We passed some stairs on the way," Daniyel supplied.

"But what if we just run into more of them there?" Ron said. "They'll be coming down to look for us..."

Ella drifted away as they debated it, glancing through the stacks of the library. Surely, there had to be more than one way out of the dungeon. Hermione appeared over her shoulder.

"Do you think there's a map in here?" Ella said quietly.

"It's definitely possible. Let's have a look."

Hermione vanished down a gap between two shelves, and Ella marveled momentarily at her calmness – but it _was_ a library, after all – before proceeding further down the row. The books looked old – centuries old, in fact. She wondered if they had been somehow preserved with magic. She ran her fingers softly along the spines. They felt surprisingly warm.

She heard it as she reached for a thick book in the middle of the shelf at random: the rustle of a cloak. She spun around and stared down the row. In the dim light, she thought she could just make out the dark edge of a cloak as it trailed out of sight.

"Hermione?" she called softly.

"What is it?"

She spun around. Hermione appeared behind her, a book in hand. Ella felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

"I saw something," she whispered, "down that way."

" _Lumos!_ " Hermione said quickly. The beam of light cut through the semi-darkness of the row, scattering the shadows. They stared. It was empty. They glanced at each other silently, and then Ella took a tentative step forward. Hermione followed.

They walked silently to the end of the row, and then Ella took a deep breath and edged quietly around the end of the stack. She found herself in a narrow passageway, pressed between the shelves on one side, and the stone wall on the other. Hermione stepped through behind her, casting her light in both directions. It was empty. Ella glanced back at Hermione, who shrugged.

"It _was_ dark…" Ella admitted, looking around uneasily. She could have imagined the cloak. It was just that she _didn't think that she had_. The whole library, with its strange blue glow, was making her feel on edge.

She stepped further into the passage, glancing down the next row she passed, and the next, trailing her hand slowly along the wall as she went. She felt it when she passed the third row – a slight groove along the wall. She paused, staring. Hermione, following her gaze, aimed the beam of light at the wall. It was incredibly narrow, and set into the wall so perfectly that if she hadn't had her hand upon it, she never would have seen it. But it was, unmistakably, a door.

" _Alohomora!_ " Hermione whispered, and they jumped aside as it swung silently out towards them. They glanced into the opening. A narrow spiral staircase led up into darkness.

"I think," Ella said softly, "we may have found that other way out…"

Some fifteen minutes later, the six of them stood gathered outside the door. Harry and Daniyel, their faces hooded once more, slipped into the opening first. Hermione and Ron went after them, and Ella and Robert brought up the rear. Ella glanced around nervously as she stepped onto the spiral staircase. She pulled the door shut behind them, plunging them all into darkness. Up ahead, Harry and Daniyel lit their wands.

The stairs went on for ages. They rose, their feet stepping on worn-out steps that crumbled under their weight. Ella panted slightly as they rose, aware that if she had not been so on edge, the effort would have been incredibly taxing. As they ascended, the light of their wands trailed across the wall, illuminating doors set into the stone on almost every level. They opened several of them, nervously at first, and then with the false comfort of routine, as each door revealed more levels of the library. More stacks. More books. All empty.

"This library," Hermione breathed as they climbed steadily higher, "is bigger even than the one at Hogwarts. This is _amazing_. If I could just…" She trailed off, looking wistfully onto yet another floor full of books as Harry decidedly closed the door.

"Sorry, Hermione," he said, "we have to escape Voldemort and get back to Hogwarts – we don't have time for you to go to the library."

They continued along this vein for several more levels, until they finally opened a door to see a long hall, still full of bookshelves, but with a high ceiling and tall narrow windows set into one wall, through which starlight filtered though. They paused on the threshold, gazing into the room.

"We're above ground," Harry whispered. "This is it. Let's go."

They slipped into the room, moving silently through the hush of the stacks. Ron, Hermione, Ella, and Robert stayed several steps back, hidden in shadows, as Harry and Daniyel strode purposely ahead, their black cloaks swirling around them, their faces safely hidden.

Ella's eyes darted nervously around as they walked. It felt deceitfully silent. Surely the Death Eaters and Voldemort must know by now that they had escaped. Would they be looking for them down below? She hadn't heard anyone behind them on the steps – did they know about the door in the library? Voldemort wasn't the one who had built Shadow Hogwarts, after all. But even if their location was safe for the moment, did they dare simply walk out the library doors?

She heard Hermione let out a sharp gasp beside her and froze, abruptly brought back to reality. A single hooded figure was standing up ahead, blocking Harry and Daniyel's path forward. Ella drew further into the shadows with Ron, Hermione, and Robert. Her hand unconsciously slipped into her pocket, fingers clenching around the wand Hermione had handed her earlier. She didn't need it, but it did help her focus, and gripping it made her feel prepared.

The hooded figure took several steps forward and then stopped right in front of Harry and Daniyel without speaking. Ella felt the back of her neck prickle.

"What is it?" Harry said in a tone of annoyed unconcern. His voice was rough and pitched several octaves lower than she'd ever heard it.

The hooded figure let out a soft laugh, which was decidedly female, and said, "I appreciate you coming all the way up here to join us… _Harry_."

And before they could react, an immense and all-consuming force washed over them all.

It knocked the very air out of Ella's lungs. She would have staggered back – collapsed – but she couldn't move an inch. The strength of the Death Eater's magic held her entirely in place. She could barely breathe. It was almost like trying to fight down a typhoon. Her fear was screaming so loudly in her ears that she barely heard the Death Eater's next words.

"There's no use hiding. There's something you're needed for, I'm afraid," the Death Eater said calmly. "Something very important, Harry."

Ella stared, her eyes streaming from the pressure of the magical force bearing down on her, as the Death Eater slowly lowered her hood to reveal a thin face, long brown hair, and dark eyes. Hermione let out a soft whimper beside her.

"Arabella!" Ron managed, his voice a barely audible hiss.

"It's time," Arabella said and, with a sweep of her hand, Harry's hood was ripped off his face. Ella watched, almost in slow motion, as Arabella moved her hand again, and Harry was thrown back onto the floor in a flash of white. His back arched gracefully through the air as he fell, and he hit the ground with a thud. He let out a scream of pain and clutched at his head.

She felt her heart thud painfully in her chest as she watched him collapse, her body turning icy cold. The room seemed whiter, brighter. And then a furious rage erupted in her, racing out from her heart and burning through her veins as it coursed through her. It burst out of her with the force of an explosion, and Arabella was thrown back into the nearest bookshelf with a resounding crash. The bookshelf collapsed, crashing into the one behind it, and books rained down everywhere.

The pressure surrounding them all vanished, and Ella staggered and nearly fell.

"HARRY!" she screamed, stumbling toward him. He was still sprawled on the floor, his hands pressed to his eyes.

The books that had fallen atop Arabella abruptly rose into the air and shot at them. Several crashed into Daniyel, who had been running towards her with his wand out, and they knocked him back, forcing him into the stacks. He dropped to his knees, gasping. Ella, who had almost reached Harry, screamed " _Protego!_ " and a shield flared into life around them both, causing the books to rebound wildly to the side.

Ron appeared at Ella's shoulder, aimed his wand at Arabella, and screamed " _Stupefy!_ " and jet of red light shot at her. She knocked it to the side with a flick of her wand as she staggered to her feet, and then sent a jet of blue light at Ron. He ducked behind Ella's shield, and the blue light shot past them, hitting the bookshelf behind them. More books rained down. She heard muffled screams, and felt cold panic for Daniyel, Robert, and Hermione. She whirled around but didn't see them anywhere. Had they been in the line of fire? She could feel the blood thudding in her ears. Everything was moving in slow motion.

Ron jumped back up and sent another Stunner at Arabella. He missed, and it hit another shelf, cracking it in half. The noise was incredible. Ella crouched down next to Harry, called his name urgently through the racket. His breathing was shallow, and when she pulled his hands away from his face, she saw that his eyes were glassy, his pupils almost entirely dilated.

She shook his shoulders roughly, trying to wake him. Ron threw a Knockback Jinx at Arabella. At the same time, a gust of icy wind abruptly burst out from behind the stacks, joining in with Ron's spell, and coating half the room in snow as it pushed Arabella back. Ella barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before something invisible grabbed her around the throat and hoisted her into the air. She gasped, choking. Her shield flickered and died. She could vaguely see Ron dangling in the air beside her. Her head began to spin, black dots appearing at the edges of her vision. She couldn't get enough air. Her mind was growing hazy.

Dimly, she heard bangs and indistinct voices, and felt the presence of several dark shapes surrounding her. She was grabbed roughly, and the pressure on her throat diminished. She took a painful, burning breath. A hand plunged roughly into her robes, and she felt the wand leave her pocket. She nearly laughed. _I don't need it, you fools._ She reached for her magic – any spell would do – but her head gave an agonizing throb and she gasped in pain, her concentration shattered. Her head spun again, and she hung temporarily limp, held up only by her captor.

"Bring them to the circle," a high voice screeched, grating on her ears. "It's time. _It's time._ "

She was dragged roughly forward, out of the library, down a dark passageway. She saw a flash of orange in her peripheral vision. Was it Ron? Robert? She couldn't tell.

"Harry…" she moaned softly.

" _Shut up, Mudblood!_ " A cold voice in her ear. She shuddered.

She came back to herself slightly as they stepped outside and the freezing cold air slammed into her like a speeding train. Naked fear swept through her as she saw the circle carved into the stones, illuminated by the light of a thousand stars. Sweat broke out across her brow, despite the freezing cold air around them.

_They had the right Harry this time._


	26. The Right Thing

**Chapter Twenty-Six:**

_The Right Thing_

.

He felt pain.

It started in his head and spread out, burning through his whole body. His brain was collapsing in on itself. Painfully, agonizingly, collapsing. He couldn't see. His very mind was screaming. He only realized that his hands were pressing his glasses against his eyeballs – pressing so tightly, as if the pain of shoving his eyeballs back through his skull would be a welcome distraction – when she pulled them away. Her face was a blur. A light. One warm speck in a world of infinite darkness. He saw her lips moving, forming words. But he couldn't hear. His ears were not working. He could make out nothing but a dissonance of unidentified noise.

She was whisked suddenly away, her face vanishing from his line of sight – one moment there, the next just gone. His lips half-formed the motions of her name.

 _The power within Ella is your strength._ His head throbbed. The errant thought vanished. For a moment he didn't know where he was. When he was. He almost didn't know _who he was_.

He was hoisted up roughly by two sets of hands. His body screamed silently in protest. _One will break. One will fall._ His head felt like it was breaking.

_Equal footing._

"…the circle. It's time..."

The voice cut into his mind like a drill, fragmenting the senselessness. His eyes refocused somewhat. He saw Death Eaters everywhere he looked. They were surrounded. He was pushed roughly forward. He stumbled. He saw Ella, hanging limply from the arms of a tall, hooded man. Fear struck him.

"Almost time now, Harry." The familiar voice in his ear let him know that _she_ was one of the two who were forcing him forward. Arabella. His neighbor who was not his neighbor. Who was an Auror. _Who was a Death Eater._ He felt the rage of betrayal well up within him.

The passageway sharpened further still. He could see each individual stone upon the floor, the edges cracked and weathered. _Salazar Slytherin built Shadow Hogwarts to be his refuge. Stone by stone. To start anew. To destroy Gryffindor. To take what was not his. And Voldemort has remembered. Voldemort has persevered_. He couldn't make sense of the thoughts.

They had arrived at a set of double doors, intricately carved with delicate patterns. He saw the curved outline of a snake. Its eyes glistened in the torchlight.

The doors opened.

Cold. Bone-numbing, glacial, unbearable cold. It washed over him – seeped into his very bones. Awoke his mind.

He looked around frantically to see the courtyard of his nightmares, and his heart jumped into his throat. Despite all their plans and disguises and the battles – which seemed pitiably trivial now – that they had won, he found himself, after all, at Voldemort's mercy. And there was no Dumbledore to save him now. No Portkey to escape with. No Time-Turner to try again. He had failed to save his friends; had led still more friends into danger. Would be he responsible, again, for the death of someone he loved?

He saw Voldemort then.

His tall, thin, terrifying form stepped toward Harry from the other side of the courtyard, and his head exploded with pain again. But it was a different pain – a familiar pain. A scar-shaped pain. And he pushed it aside as he looked within himself for courage. For Ella. For Ron and Hermione and Robert. For Daniyel. He would not give up. He would fight to the end, until every last hope was extinguished – until there was no way forward. He glanced around the courtyard again and saw Ella, restrained but alert now, her dark eyes holding his briefly. He saw Ron, scowling as he was held back, a wand at this throat. But he didn't see Hermione. He didn't see Robert. He didn't see Daniyel. He had not used up all his cards then. Not yet. There was still a chance.

"Harry," Voldemort said, his voice a familiar hiss, "I hear you have been busy. Escaping from your cell. Attacking four of my own with your… band of followers. I am almost impressed, Harry. But I should expect no less of you, after all. The last Heir of Gryffindor… how sweet it is." He stepped closer, until he was mere feet away. The pain in Harry's forehead doubled. "No more waiting. It is finally time."

He turned away from Harry, addressed the courtyard at large. "Our first attempt was not successful, my friends. We were hasty. We did not wait – I am told – for the proper alignment. But it is no matter now. Harry Potter will be dead by morning." He turned back to Harry, stepped closer to him – until the red slits of his eyes made up most of Harry's field of vision. Harry struggled not to flinch. " _Either. Way_ ," Voldemort hissed, directing the threat to Arabella, who stood behind Harry's shoulder, still gripping his arm roughly.

"Of course," she said reverently. Her voice was cool. Calm. "It will work, My Lord. I swear it."

"Good," Voldemort breathed. He turned away from her. Stepped towards the edge of the circle. "Bring him to the altar."

Harry stumbled as Arabella and the other Death Eater holding him pushed him roughly forward. His mind whirled furiously as they approached the edge of the circle. He was running out of options. What could he do? Could he… His mind suddenly froze. In their wavering walk forward – in which the Death Eaters were pushing him, and he was doing his best to stumble, to slow them down – Arabella had shoved at him roughly and he felt it, fleetingly but unmistakably, in the pocket of his robes. Somehow, incredibly, inexplicably, _he still had his wand._ Had he shoved it there before he had fallen? They must not have searched him properly.

Just then, as he was weaving half-formed plans in his mind, the Death Eaters thrust him forward once more, and one of his feet touched the groove of the circle carved into the stones. There was an immediate pulse of power that started at his feet and shot upwards, originating from the carving in the stone. He felt it wash over him, and then, almost at once, awareness flared up within him. So clear. So simple. _He understood._

If the end – the Union – came tonight, he would not simply stand aside to be the sacrifice. _Equal footing._ _He needed to…_ He was reeling in his newfound revelation, and he almost didn't see as Ella fixed her eyes, which blazed with anger – or was it magic, was it her strength? – in his direction and screamed " _Incendio!_ " and not so much a jet as a surge of fire burst forth, burning the arms of the man who held her back, and crashing into the Death Eaters who held on to Harry from behind with the fury of a storm. He wrenched free from their grasp as they screamed in surprised agony, plunged his hand into his robes, grabbed his wand, and screamed, " _Expulso!_ "

They were both thrown back, along with the flames, towards the swarm of Death Eaters outside the circle. Ron, taking advantage of the confusion, shoved back hard with his head and ripped the wand out of the hand of the man holding him in one smooth motion. The hooded man staggered back, shocked, and Ron hit him in the chest with a well-aimed Stunner, then whirled to join the battle.

At the same time, another Death Eater raised his wand and shot a jet of red light – not at Harry, or Ella, or Ron, but at Voldemort himself, whose snake-like face was twisting in fury

" _NO!_ " Voldemort screamed, deflecting the spell with ease. "You will _not_ do this, Potter! No!"

He threw himself into the fray, his wand raised, ignoring the rogue Death Eater altogether, and before Harry could defend himself, could even raise his wand, Voldemort had hit him with a force of fury that knocked him down – that took the breath out of him, and forced him deeper towards the center of the circle. He scrambled back, panting.

"I have waited too long!" Voldemort hissed, advancing on Harry.

Behind him, Harry could see more spells still, crisscrossing across the night sky as the fire burned. The scene was oddly reminiscent of a battle long ago. He saw Ron, dueling with a cloaked and hooded figure, jumping aside to avoid spell after spell. He saw Ella, her eyes still blazing in fury and determination, magic bursting wildly out of her hand. And then there was Hermione (where had she come from?) twirling this way and that, shooting spells into the crowd, pausing only to shout his name in encouragement. And Robert – he saw the blue glow of his sword first as he swung it, too quickly to follow – slashing here and there, keeping hooded figures at bay, spells inconceivably bouncing off it. They weren't giving up, his friends. They would fight to the end. Against all odds. And so would he, he knew. _So would he._

He gathered his courage and turned to face Voldemort. Turned to face the man who he had been running from – and to – his whole life.

"You can't kill me, can you?" Harry spat, raising his wand. "You need me alive, don't you? For your Union? _Stupefy!_ "

"Don't be foolish, Potter," Voldemort hissed, knocking Harry's spell easily aside and forcing him back several feet towards the center of the circle with his wand. "You think you can defy me? I will finish you regardless." He took one more step and deliberately crossed the line separating the stones. The outline of the circle glowed to life.

" _GLACIES!_ "

Harry heard Daniyel's shout and, as he instinctively took his eyes off Voldemort's advancing form, he saw the ice coming for them in a fury of wind and sleet and snow. He raised his wand abruptly and screamed " _Protego!_ " as he watched the ice storm devour everything in its path with a furious savagery – Death Eaters and the remnants of Ella's Fire-Making Spell alike falling before it. When it hit the outer perimeter of the circle, however, there was a tremendous BANG, as if it had hit something solid, and then it burst outward, rebounding off the edge. The perimeter of the circle flashed with blue and white light, and ice burst into being around it, forming a tall, glacial wall, separating them from the Death Eaters and his friends outside.

Voldemort laughed softly. Then he aimed his wand at Harry once more. " _Crucio._ "

The force of the Cruciatus Curse shattered his Shield Charm and hit him like a thousand stabbing knives. He screamed in agony, his mind flooding once more with memories of the graveyard, of Cedric – until it was not just his body but also his mind that was screaming in torment. When it lifted, he staggered to the side, his whole body shaking. He weakly raised his wand, focused on Voldemort, and conjured several arrows into being, shooting them in Voldemort's direction with a shaky breath. Voldemort cast them easily aside.

"Pathetic," he said, his tone amused. "This is child's play, Harry. You think your schoolbook hexes and conjurations will work against me? _Me?_ Who has studied Dark Magic more powerful than you could ever imagine?" He laughed again. His laugh was cruel. And cold. "Your friends are putting up quite the resistance, Harry. I'm not sure how you're all doing it, but rest assured, I _will_ find out, after I deal with you. They've even been kind enough to give us the time needed for our little Union – without distractions. I thank them."

Harry stumbled back, panting. The circle around them had begun to glow. He aimed his wand at Voldemort again with a shaky hand and cried, " _Confringo!_ " The stones at Voldemort's feet exploded and he moved effortlessly aside. Chunks of stone pelted him, but he seemed not to notice.

"Enough!" Voldemort hissed. "I am done playing games, Harry. _Get on the altar_." As he spoke, he pushed Harry back with the force of his magic, and Harry struggled uselessly against it as it forced him toward the platform. Voldemort slashed his wand violently through the air, slicing across Harry's arms and chest until he nearly screamed again, and blood trailed down his robes. He staggered back further, his back pressing up against the platform, his blood smearing the ground.

He strained against the spell with all his being. He would not give Voldemort the satisfaction of killing him so easily. He focused on Voldemort, tried not to think of Ella, Ron, Hermione, Robert, or Daniyel – doing their best outside the circle – hopefully still alive. He lunged sideways, rolled away from the platform. His body was screaming in agony. Voldemort would not go in for the final shot, he knew, not yet. He had planned too long, wanted this too much. Simply killing Harry would not offer the same satisfaction.

" _Oppugno!_ " he gasped, shoving his wand at the broken chunks of stone scattered across the ground. They flew at Voldemort with the force of bullets, and he hissed in rage.

"ENOUGH!"

With one sharp jab of his wand, Voldemort hoisted Harry abruptly into the air and brought him down, hard, against the stone platform table. Harry gasped, the breath knocked out of him. His head banged into the stone with a resounding crack. His vision momentarily darkened. He lay there, panting, his eyes glazed, pain beating down on him. It took him several moments to realize that Voldemort was speaking.

"… _let the battle of the serpent and the lion end this night!"_

His eyes refocused to see bursts of red and green light crashing together above his head. It was as if Slytherin and Gryffindor themselves had risen, to fight it out once more – centuries later. And perhaps they had. He felt a tremendous pressure bearing down on him. A gale had whipped up around them. Voldemort was laughing.

He fought against it, the pressure holding him to the table. He realized that it was impossible to not be afraid. That it was acting despite your fear, doing the right thing anyway, no matter how hard – how impossible it was, that made you brave. How many other children would grow up without parents, if he didn't fight this, right here, right now? He shifted slightly on the table, just a little bit closer to the edge. The pain was getting stronger. His scar was on fire. Voldemort's laughter filled his ears.

"You are not the only one," Harry hissed through gritted teeth, "who took something from me. I have something… of yours… too." He focused on moving – focused the entirety of his will on it. The pressure diminished slightly. He shifted more. His arm slid off the table. He turned his head, until he could see Voldemort in his line of sight.

And behind Voldemort, he saw a figure appear, blurry at first but growing more substantial all the while. The figure walked through the wall of ice enclosing the circle as if it weren't there, and then through the intangible barrier of light that surrounded them – passing through it all as if it were an illusion. And hell, maybe it was. He smiled weakly. For a second, he wasn't sure if it was Daniyel, or simply a manifestation of his own will; which had concluded that he could not possibly do this alone.

But then Daniyel, who was covered in blood and bruises and was inarguably solid, raised his wand and aimed it at Voldemort and yelled " _Glacies!_ " once more, and Voldemort, wholly unprepared, screamed as several thick shards of ice stabbed through his torso from behind. It was a horrible yell; long, and drawn-out, and screaming of unimaginable torment. Dark black blood burst from his robes in a torrent, and he collapsed to his knees, momentarily stunned. With a final effort of will, Harry rolled off the table and landed on the ground, staggering back to his feet quickly. Adrenaline pumped through him as he stared between Daniyel, who looked horrified at what he had done, and Voldemort, whose face was twisted in pain and rage, but who would recoup in moments, if he didn't do something, if he didn't finish this.

"Get him – get him on the table!" Harry gasped at Daniyel, who nodded, his face set and pale, and brought forth another ice storm, which lifted Voldemort off the ground and flung him unceremoniously onto the platform, where the magic of the Union bore down upon him immediately and held him in place, as it had just held Harry.

The glowing lights around the circle were flashing more feverishly now, the red and green energies constantly colliding, exploding in bursts. The wind blew harder, faster. It flapped their robes about unceasingly, and staying on their feet was a battle.

"What do you think you're doing?" Voldemort hissed, and Harry could see him fighting against the pressure that held him down. "The Union will not work for you. _Fool!_ It is too late."

"Yes," Harry said softly, "it is. You're wrong… _Tom_. You don't understand. You've never understood. Are you really… that arrogant?"

He stepped back, until he stood at Daniyel's side. Voldemort glared at them both, his snake-like eyes uncomprehending. Furious.

"You took my blood," Harry said. "You thought that was all you needed? To call forth the Union? To fulfill the prophecy? But you gave me something too, _don't you remember?_ The night you first tried to kill me. When your curse backfired, and you broke. You put something of yourself in me then. And now that's enough. ' _Equal footing, both with chance to draw favor. The circle, untethered, will choose which will waver.'_ You didn't see that part, did you? It can go both ways, Tom. It doesn't say it will be me, who dies upon the stone table."

Voldemort glared at him with such fury that had Harry been in any other mindset, he would have quailed in fear just from the gaze alone. But he was tired. He was broken. He was shattered, and afraid, and filled with remorse at what he knew must be done, but he also accepted that sometimes the hard thing was the right thing – sometimes the _only_ thing to do, and that there was no one else to do it. And he wanted it to be over, not just for himself, but for his friends, and everyone he loved, and even for everyone he didn't love, or didn't know, and for all the children he hoped would never grow up without parents again – and if he could somehow protect that, _he would_. So he didn't step away.

"If the Union does not kill you, Potter," Voldemort spat, pointing his wand at Harry from where he lay on the platform, "then I will do it myself! _Avada Kedavra!_ "

" _Protego!_ " Harry shouted, falling back onto the spell that had somehow saved him before – even if something else had been in play to make it effective.

" _Glacies!_ " Daniyel cried out at the same time, unable to stand back and let Harry face this alone, their voices joining together, their spells forming a harmony.

Harry's shield burst into being around them, and Daniyel's ice fused with it, expanded it, until it formed a solid icy wall, moments before Voldemort's Killing Curse crashed into it. The spell rebounded, unable to break through the icy shield, and shot up into the sky, where it collided with the flashing greens and reds of the Union. They watched, momentarily frozen, as the lights merged, swelling until a single multi-colored glowing sphere formed out of the dissenting energies.

And then that multi-colored sphere abruptly tore at the stone table, and engulfed it in a flash of blinding light.

When it faded, Voldemort lay still upon the stone, his body pale and withered, and unmistakably – finally – dead.


	27. Aftermath

**Chapter Twenty-Seven:**

_Aftermath_

.

Harry stared, his heart thudding, his mind empty. It seemed as if time had stopped. The world had frozen. The pain in his scar was conspicuous only by its absence – a sudden black hole within his awareness. And as he stood there, staring, unable to take in the entirety of it all – was it _really_ over? – he felt something rush at him, like magic, wind, power... It enveloped him, tearing into his chest, his mind, his heart. He collapsed to his knees, his eyes momentarily seeing not the remains of the circle and Voldemort's broken body, but a stridency of color and emotions. A terrible anger. A magic so powerful, he knew not how to contain it. And it was endless, and overwhelming, and he was drowning in it all…

" _Harry!_ "

He came back to awareness and found himself on his knees upon the stones of the circle. Daniyel was crouched before him, his face still pale and bloody, and altogether concerned. "Are you OK?"

"I-I think so," Harry muttered. He wasn't sure what had happened, but he allowed Daniyel to pull him back to his feet.

The lights around them had dissipated, though they were still enclosed by the wall of ice, and the interior of the circle was sheathed in silence. It was impossible to tell if the battle was still ongoing outside the perimeter. Harry yearned to get out there, to check on his friends, but they had to make sure. Even though he had known it the moment his scar stopped hurting, had felt it as soon as the magic hit him, he had to see, with his own eyes. He stepped toward the platform at the center, and Daniyel followed.

Voldemort looked pitiful in death. Staring down at his broken body, Harry imagined he would have felt relief, or hope, or even a modicum of happiness that it was over, that his parents and Cedric and countless others had been avenged at last; but all he felt was a deep bone-crushing grief. How many people had had to die for this moment? How could he have expected that an act of killing, even by necessity, would bring him joy? No. He had made his choice. Done what needed to be done. But the weight of it was heavy, and he knew he would carry it always. He turned away.

The broken man lying on the table was, in the end, only human.

They walked to the icy wall in silence then, both grappling with the weight of what they had done. When they reached the ice, Daniyel touched his wand to it briefly, closing his eyes in concentration, and golden light spread out from the tip of his wand and stretched across the wall in a thin web until the ice fell away, revealing the remnants of the battle.

Harry could not say how he got through it all, everything that came after. It blurred together in a storm of color, and hazy impressions of varying emotional intensity: The courtyard – scorched and broken, and covered in pieces of ice, and chunks of stone – and limp bodies. Dark shapes – stunned, or frozen, or laying underneath broken bits of stone, in between scattered, still-burning fires. The frozen husk of a snake. Thick smoke hung upon the air. An acrid smell of burning. Dust. Blood. A frantic search for familiar faces. Robert, stumbling through the wreckage, his sword hanging limply in his hand. Ella, laying still upon the ground, nearly buried in the rubble of a broken-off balcony. Mercifully alive. Hermione, blood-soaked and unconscious, with Ron kneeling by her side, his face pale and set, murmuring, " _Episkey!_ " over and over again – his wand, recovered, during the battle – his efforts, just barely enough.

Later, when he looked back, he remembered only moments. Ella, finally awake, staring at him with haunted eyes, whispering, "…dead. Because of me…" in a voice so broken, he didn't think it would ever mend. And he hated himself for it. Hated himself for bringing her, for needing her, despite knowing the cost that she would have to pay. Hated himself even more for knowing he would not be there to hold her hand in the long nights to follow – would not be there to see if the light came back into her eyes.

He remembered the feel of the faint pulse in Hermione's wrist, thumping firmly against the rough surface of his thumb. The relief, fleeting, eclipsed by fear – as they wrapped her wounds tightly in their shirts, and whatever strips of cloth they could salvage to stop the bleeding – because the few healing spells they knew were not enough. But they _did_ know she needed help, and needed it soon, just as they knew that she could have healed the injuries, had she been awake.

When they asked, and they all did, about Voldemort, Harry had murmured, "Dead," softly. "Gone." With his eyes averted. But they had not recoiled. They had reached out in support. In understanding. Solidarity. He was not alone.

They were shell-shocked, all of them; wandering around like prisoners, finally let free after spending years in captivity, feeling the fresh air on their faces and not knowing what to make of it. They looked not at the Death Eaters on the ground, but through them, unable to admit their part in the battle, even to themselves. They could not say, with any clear certainty, how the few of them had come out on top, even if Daniyel's ice and Ella's fire had paved the way.

He had a clear vision, as they walked through the freezing cold, supporting Hermione between them, of Arabella's face, as she lay, broken, upon the ground. Her dark hair was spread out around her, and her eyes were blank. Staring. Ella recoiled, crying for the fire. But Harry looked at her, and he felt numb. He felt nothing. In the end, he was a survivor of this war just as much as he was a victim.

They debated what to do about the Death Eaters.

"It's so cold," Ella had said, wrecked with guilt, "they'll freeze to death here."

And Ron, who still had his arms protectively around Hermione had snapped, "Just leave them. The bastards tried to do us in. They have it coming."

But in the end what could they really do, but leave them and run? They had their own wounded to tend to, their own escape to attempt, and time was running out. For Hermione. For all of them.

The contemplated the escape plans, each as futile as the next. They stood there, in the icy night, their breath fogging up the air as they shivered uncontrollably, so cold they could no longer feel it, fully aware that they could not walk to Hogwarts, could not Apparate, and could not make a Portkey. In the end, it was falling back into the familiar that saved them. As he thought of Hermione, and everything she had taught him, Harry had raised his wand into the night and whispered, " _Accio brooms!_ " and miraculously, broomsticks had shot at them from the confines of the castle. They were cracked, and dusty, and looked centuries old, and he couldn't imagine know how they were not falling apart or out of the sky, perhaps by magic, but there were four of them, and they were in one piece, and it was enough.

They found, then, that Ella could fly one, though she was shaky at steering, so Harry put her and Robert on a broom together, and found that his set training translated to steering quite well. When they rose into the air, he saw them both smile for the first time since they left the trailer. Amidst all the carnage, a dream realized at last.

Ron would not let go of Hermione, so they secured her to the broom behind him, tying her into place firmly with cords they conjured from thin air. Then Daniyel, his face paler still, climbed on the third broom, and Harry mounted the last one, and together the six of them rose into the air as predawn light began to creep over Shadow Hogwarts.

The freezing wind whipped at their faces as they rose higher, cutting through their cloaks and robes and nearly blowing them off course; making them even colder than they could have imagined. They rose, high above the castle, until the forest and several dark lakes lay spread out below them, and they saw, on the lightening horizon, an edge to the forest far in the distance, in what the direction of the sun and Hermione's Four-Point Spell indicated was west. They headed that way, for lack of a better option, hoping that they could find, absent of a wizarding civilization, at least some help, and a warm fire; and hopefully not persecution for six teenagers with cloaks and magic wands (and one sword) on ancient broomsticks.

Harry lost himself for a moment as they flew steadily west, his mind retreating deep into itself as his body settled into the familiar motions of flying. He thought about what he had done, _what he and Daniyel had done together_ , and wondered what it meant. How he had known to do it. And if the magic he had felt after, the one that had latched on to him and taken hold of him, was as old and as dark as he feared. He did not wish to carry this burden, this knowledge. Knowledge was power, but it was also a chain that dragged him down.

The sun began to rise behind them, setting the forest alight with a soft golden glow. The snow glittered on the ground far below them. It was a new day, a new beginning, and in a way it washed away some of the horrors of the night before. He let himself smile slightly, beginning to feel a kindling of hope that they could find a way out of this mess. And that hope made it that much worse when he heard Daniyel suddenly gasp in pain behind him.

Harry whirled around, fear and worry seizing him once more; as he saw Daniyel, backlit by a glorious sunrise, contort in pain upon his broom. As Harry watched, horror-struck, he began to tip forward, the handle of the broomstick sliding out of his grasp. He heard Ella call out, in confusion, then fear, but he thought he understood. Magic had limits. And holding a wand in the forest of its creation could only mask pain, not heal it.

He swung back as Daniyel began to fall off his broom in earnest, shooting toward him as fast as the old broomstick would allow as cries rang out in his ears. He grabbed at Daniyel's arm, his numb fingers grasping at cloth, and the additional weight dragged him sharply down. The ancient broomstick shuddered, sputtering under the sudden load of two teenage boys, and there was a resounding crack. There was a moment, when they hung in the air, almost balanced, and then, abruptly, they were plunging down, the ground rushing up to meet them, the broomstick he held on to suddenly no more magical than Aunt Petunia's floor brush.

Harry felt like he had left his sense behind, some fifteen feet above them, and his mind was agonizingly blank as they rushed at the ground. Terror seized him, and all his thoughts fell to pieces. He felt numb. Shocked. Disoriented. He clutched tighter at Daniyel's arm, trying to beat his mind into forming a plan. _Anything_. And then, when they were moments from crashing into the trees below, he felt the magic – that undeniable power – burst out of him, along with that centuries-old anger, and he screamed, whether in fear or rage, he couldn't be sure and, abruptly, they were _floating_.

They were landing, softly, into the treetops, and he was confused. And afraid. So terribly afraid. And tired.

The magic strummed through him, shattering his focus on reality. He was sitting in the topmost bare branches of the tree with Daniyel, and also without Daniyel. It was winter, and he was cold, and then he wasn't. He saw green. For a second, he thought he could feel a warm summer breeze upon his face. Or had it just been Ron's arm shaking his shoulder? Their faces were around him. Confused. Concerned. Everything was a tangle.

He forced himself to focus, to grab on to the handle of the broom that Ron held out to him. Daniyel's, he said. They had snagged it from the air. They rose into the sky again, three broomsticks now, instead of four; this one mercifully holding out. And they flew steadily west, Daniyel's unconscious form secured tightly behind him, burning now with fever, and filling Harry with fear for how long this journey would take, and how many of them would survive it.

When he finally saw them, speeding in their direction across the sky, their faces clearly visible in the morning sunlight, the relief was so palpable that it flooded through them all like a physical force. They shouted, waving their arms frantically, their faces breaking, finally, into semblances of smiles. Harry sped towards the small group of broomstick-flying wizards and witches in the distance, homing in on his godfather's face like a beacon. He was on his last leg, his last breath. He didn't think he could fight against the strength of the magic coursing through him, or his weariness, or his deep, deep grief for a moment more. Now that help was only a handspan away, he couldn't imagine how he had lasted without it all this time.

He felt Sirius's arms close tightly around him, a small measure of warmth and safety after the long, cold night; and then he was falling, falling, giving in.

The daylight turned to darkness around him, shifting imperceptibly to black, and then brightened again, and he found himself standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He looked up at Hogwarts in the distance as it stood there, solid, unchanging; waiting to welcome him home.

The trees were lush green, and a warm summer breeze drifted lazily across the grounds. The air around him was empty – heavy with silence. The trees shifted in the slight breeze. He glanced around, perplexed. His robes were dry and whole, and he was warm. Content. The memory of Voldemort seemed very far away. _Was it a dream?_ What battle had he left behind? Was someone hurt? He was having trouble remembering.

He heard a sound then, a slight rustle, and a dark-haired girl appeared on the lawn beside him. She slipped past him, his presence unnoticed, and walked hurriedly toward the castle. Her dark robes swirled in her wake.

Drawn to her as if by a magnet, he followed.

She slipped past the large oak front doors and padded silently across the empty Entrance Hall, glancing around her warily as she walked. Harry followed her, his footsteps silent on the stone floor. It was always so when he walked within a dream.

He followed her up several flights of stairs, and into one of the towers on the east side of the castle. She met no one upon her journey. She stopped outside a door and hesitated, her fingers drifting to a small pin upon her lapel. She raised a hand to knock, hesitated, and drew it back. Then she took a deep breath and slowly pushed at the door until it creaked open. She slipped inside the room, and Harry followed, like a silent shadow.

"Why are you here?"

She drew abruptly to a halt, gazing at a tall red-haired girl who was glaring at her, her dark brown eyes blazing with fury. The redhead appeared to have been pacing before the door, and as she stared in anger at the new arrival, her hand shot out to her side and a small sword appeared within it. She gripped it tightly and raised it, her face twisting with hatred. The dark-haired girl, in turn, grasped her wand and raised it defensively.

"I come in peace," she said.

"Peace," the redhead scoffed. "It's much too late for that, Sara! Your father has seen to that. I suppose you're here to finish what he started?" She raised the sword higher.

"That isn't so," Sara pleaded. "Please, believe me."

"As if I could! You vile cretin! You–"

"Stop!" a third voice rang out weakly, and the redhead slackened as if the energy had been sapped out of her. She lowered her sword and glanced behind her and, as Harry followed her gaze, he saw a third girl, sitting up in a large canopy bed, a white semi-transparent curtain drawn partially around it.

The third girl was thin and looked rather frail. Her face was pale and drawn, and her hair was a sallow shade of blonde and hung limply down her back. She wore a white nightgown. A yellow ribbon was tied loosely around her right wrist, and as she spoke again and gestured at Sara, it glowed momentarily.

"I asked her to come, Bria." The effort of speaking seemed to tire her, and she sagged into the bed, the ribbon glowing brighter still. "Stop this. There is no time to waste."

"Ariella," Sara gasped, lowering her wand. "Merlin, look at you. You are not well. When has it gotten so bad?"

"As if you care," Bria scoffed, "for Hufflepuff's daughter! You and your family – we all know how it is."

Sara pushed past Bria in silence and sat beside Ariella on the edge of the bed. She clasped the girl's thin hands gently with her own.

"I am not my father," she said quietly, glancing back at Bria.

"And how are we to know that?" Bria hissed. "My father is out there, you know, hunting your father down. He _will_ stop him, Sara. And the Shadow Hogwarts your father has built will fall to pieces!"

"I pray it will be so," Sara said quietly.

"You pray! As if you didn't help him build it, stone by stone!"

"You know I did not!" Sara said, her voice rising in anger. "You know I _would not!"_

"I don't know what you would anymore," Bria spat, turning away from her.

"Bria," Ariella implored, "please. Sara speaks the truth. I have seen it. I am so sorry, but your father will not survive this battle."

Bria's hands began to shake, and the sword slipped from her grip, vanishing before it could hit the stone floor. "You have seen this?" she whispered in a choked voice. "Slytherin is destined to win?"

"No," Ariella breathed, shaking her head softly. "They will both fall tonight, I am afraid. Their blood will be spilled upon the stone circle."

Bria dropped to her knees and did not speak. Sara looked down, twisting her hands together.

"I... can stop it," Bria mumbled, her voice breaking. "I will go. I–"

"No," Ariella said. "I am sorry, Bria. _All will break upon the stone, the Lion bested, the Serpent scorned… and both will fall, accosted._ It is destined." She closed her hand around Sara's as Bria sank back into silence, and Sara glanced at her woefully, her eyes wet. "The man he's become," Ariella added quietly, "he wasn't always so. There was good inside him once too, Sara."

"So it will end?" Sara said in a hoarse voice.

Ariella glanced at her again, and then at Bria, who had turned to face them both, her face marked with tears. Ariella reached behind her pillows and pulled a rolled-up piece of parchment toward her. She paused, breathing heavily, and the ribbon upon her wrist glowed once more. Seeming to come to herself, she unrolled it carefully, her eyes skimming across it.

"No," she said, her voice weary. "Not yet. Many wars have yet to pass. But it will… in a future I can foresee but cannot imagine, it will. Perhaps a thousand years from now… when Muggles send metal birds into the sky, and time itself collides… When to die… is not to die. When winter loosens its grip upon the earth, in the fourth month, on the night the moon falls dark, ready to begin again, true heirs will draw upon the dormant power in the hall of shadows, and only then… can there be peace at last."

Bria and Sara watched mutely as she drew out a quill and laid its tip upon the parchment. She began to write, drawing out each letter with care.

"I don't understand, Ariella," Sara said finally.

The blonde girl nodded, grimacing, the quill flying in her hand. "No. But you shall."

She finished writing as they looked on, and then offered the parchment to them with a trembling hand; the ink was still glistening as it dried. Sara and Bria read it in silence.

"A prophecy?" Bria said slowly. "Twice written?"

"Yes," Ariella breathed. "Mine. But I can only see the shape of it. And Sara… you must be the guide." She turned to the dark-haired girl and looked intently into her eyes. "I have Seen... and you must find the six, and bring them forth. You must tip the scales in the favor of good, so that peace can prevail."

"Why must _she_ do it?" Bria said abruptly. "I would be happy to do it, in my father's name. Think what you are asking of her! A Slytherin…"

"It is her burden to carry, and hers alone," Ariella said softly, "just as this is mine. It is not your path, Briadette… You are your father's only daughter, and you alone can carry the mantle of Gryffindor House. You must carry on the bloodline, until the true heir is born.

"But you, Sara," she said, turning back to the dark-haired girl, "your path is harder, I'm afraid. The legacy your father and brothers will leave behind will span centuries. To find the heirs… you must become the phoenix itself. To die. To be reborn – again and again – until the time comes. You will have to be cunning… ambitious… resourceful… everything you are. Every good thing that you are."

"How foolish!" Bria cried. "You would give her the last of your power then, when we could just slay them all now. We could end it before it begins!"

"Bria," Ariella implored, "you know it cannot be so. It is much too late to find them all… and Harmon, Ramsey, Litton… do you propose to destroy them all, with their children alongside? Will you cut the throat of Aislinn, with the baby in her womb?"

"So you will sacrifice yourself for some Slytherin brats," Bria said bitterly. "At what cost?"

"What is already set in motion cannot be undone," Ariella whispered. "We cannot kill the innocent. But I will sacrifice what I have left of my life, yes, for peace. Sara?"

"I will do it," Sara said, with quiet determination. "I will do whatever is needed, to assuage what my father has done."

"Slytherin's legacy will not be all dark then," Ariella said, a small smile forming upon her face. "The words… will you remember them?"

"Yes," Sara breathed.

"Very well. Then it is time," Ariella said. She took the parchment and ripped it in half, her hands shaking. She let the pieces fall into a pile before her. "One for each, but the snake cannot know," she murmured, and she jabbed her wand at the piece of parchment on top. As Bria and Sara watched in silence, burns spread across the parchment, obliterating parts of the prophecy written upon it. "He must not see it all. I can do this much."

She lifted the parchment, which was smoking slightly, and inspected it. The burns had spread through it, damaging the copy underneath.

"I see," Ariella muttered, gazing at the second piece of parchment "so it is." She laughed softly and handed both pieces of parchment to Sara. "Keep these safe. One for each, Sara; you will know when. _And how_."

Sara accepted the parchments and clenched them tightly, and Ariella grasped her arm. "Do not lose yourself," she said. "The years will wear away. You will be faced with hard choices. At times your path will lead you through only darkness. But your spirit is strong. _Remember_ … who you are."

She turned to Bria and reached out her other hand. In sullen silence, Bria grasped it, squeezing her fingers.

"Bria," Ariella whispered, "do not lose the light. Evil is a choice, not a birthright. It is neither name, nor blood. I beg you, let go of your anger and prejudice. And teach your son… compassion… bravery… courage… _he will remember_."

"I-I don't want you to go," Bria breathed, her voice breaking. Her hand squeezed harder around Ariella's and she let out a sob. "You. Father. Helena. Hogwarts is falling apart..."

"Hush," Ariella whispered gently. "Hogwarts will stand strong, even without us." She released the girls and cupped her hands, palms up, knitting her brows in concentration. A glowing light appeared within her hands, preceding the appearance of a sleek black hat.

"My father's hat?" Bria said, confused.

"It will be the Sorting Hat now," Ariella said. "He left it with my mother and Helena's mother. It will sort the new students come fall. Hogwarts will persevere. Your father's courage will be remembered."

She held the hat out to Bria, who took it silently, and then threw herself fiercely at Ariella, who hugged her back with trembling arms. Sara watched them mutely, her face pale, before cautiously reaching out and joining the embrace. Bria did not throw her off, and what was visible of Ariella's face turned up into a smile.

"I'm so glad," Ariella whispered, and when they broke apart, her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "It is almost like we are children again. If only Helena was here... but it matters not. I must do it now."

"Can't it – can't it wait?" Bria asked, tears falling freely down her face.

"It cannot, I'm afraid," Ariella said gently, glancing at the ribbon upon her arm. "My mother's power is the only thing that is keeping me here, and it will not weather the next sunrise. There is just enough left, _for this_." She reached for Sara again. "Sara... Please."

Sara leaned toward her, and Ariella touched her forehead to Sara's, closing her eyes. "Be strong, Sara," she whispered.

Ariella raised her hands and ran them through her thin hair until they rested upon Sara's head, and her light blonde locks intermingled with Sara's dark ones. As she lowered her hands, the strands slipped off her fingers and pressed against Sara's head of their own volition – not locks of hair at all, but wispy silver strands of memory. When the last strand of silver vanished, Sara drew back, her eyes wide.

"Ariella…" she gasped.

"I'm so sorry – it is the only way. Find the heirs. Help him… _The Boy Who Lived_."

"I will."

"I know," Ariella whispered. She glanced at them both again, her eyes glistening. "I love you both so, so dearly. And Mother. Please… tell her."

Before they could speak, in one swift motion, she ripped the yellow ribbon off her hand and thrust it against Sara's forehead. It glowed momentarily, and then vanished, as if it had been absorbed into Sara herself. She opened her mouth in a silent gasp.

"It will keep you alive." Ariella smiled. "Until it is done. Like a phoenix."

Her eyes dimmed, turning translucent. As Bria and Sara looked on in anguish, she collapsed gracefully backwards onto the bed, her hair spreading out in a cloud beneath her.

"Remember it…" she whispered. "Love… conquers… all."

And then she was silent. Gone. A last smile frozen across her face – so peaceful, it was almost possible to believe she was simply asleep.

Bria let out a ragged sob. "No…"

Sara reached down and clasped Ariella's hand one last time, her own sorrow locked deep inside. "Dark times are coming," she managed. "You best find Helga…"

Bria nodded, her eyes still locked on Ariella's lifeless form. "You should go," she said softly. "They will not take kindly to your presence."

"I-I understand," Sara said. "What Ariella has asked me to do, I must walk alone."

Sara turned towards the door, but Bria grasped at her hand as she stepped past her, halting the girl in her tracks.

"There is light inside you," Bria said softly. "Walk with courage. I will do my part."

"And I shall do mine," Sara said. "Goodbye, Briadette."

"Goodbye, Sara."

The young Slytherin slipped out of the room and strode silently through the castle, out onto the lawn, and into the shadow of the Forbidden Forest, which encroached wildly over the grounds, not yet tamed by the thousand years between them. Harry slipped silently after her, his mind a blank state of turmoil. He could not quite form words adequate enough for what he had seen.

Sara paused in the shadow of the trees, gazing at Hogwarts, until a keening cry erupted over the grounds, carried to them on the wind. She looked down, one last tear slipping down her nose, and then she was gone; Harry whisked off alongside her.


	28. The Burden of Honor

**Chapter Twenty-Eight:**

_The Burden of Honor_

.

He walked with her through fifteen lifetimes.

He watched her change her face, change her name; walk into empty home after empty home – again and again. He watched her stand at the stove alone, boiling water. Cooking for one. He gazed at the views from her windows – cityscapes of London, Aberdeen, Birmingham… always searching. Always alone.

And through it all; though years and years of time folding in around her like shackles; through multiple returns to Hogwarts, a tenure at every house; through every human touch that ultimately faded; through the incursion of Grindelwald; and finally, the rise and fall of Voldemort, where she stood twice: first masked within Tom Riddle's inner circle, performing his bidding and yet holding back, always holding back; and then in quiet rooms across the country, within the ranks of Dumbledore, the might of the Ministry behind her. Her intentions clear only to herself. She went to bed each night, turning her eyes to an old frayed photograph beside her pillow – four young girls laughing in the summer breeze, the old familiar castle behind them, unaware of what lay on the path ahead. She walked for all of them now, and prayed they watched over her.

He walked alongside her, watching as she picked her way slowly, carefully, through the wreckage of a broken house. He turned away, tears cascading down his cheeks, as she knelt beside a dark-haired man in the foyer, his messy hair spilling over his face, his glasses askew. He slipped after her, up the creaking stairs, drawn to the sound of the desperate cries above them.

He had expected to see the baby crying, to see Lily Potter's broken body spread lifelessly upon the floor – had prepared himself for it with a steely resolve he did not feel – and he gasped loudly when he saw the man, long-haired and sallow-skinned, on his knees in front of the crib, his mother's lifeless body in his arms.

Sara drew back, surprised, but the man did not see her. He glanced up, his pale face swollen with tears, and his eyes stared listlessly right through her, as if she, like Harry, did not exist in this world.

Sara stood there; gazing at the man in sorrow, hiding behind an invisibility spell so strong even Severus Snape could not sense her, and only when he had finally laid Lily gently down upon the floor and stumbled out of the room did she approach the crib. She looked down at the small child, blood trailing from the lightning-bolt shaped cut upon his head, and she reached down into the crib and picked him up gently, holding him tightly to her chest.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice shaking with suppressed tears. "I've found you, haven't I? _The Boy…Who Lived_. I've found him, Ariella… Bria…" She burst into tears then, one of the few times he had seen her cry.

Standing beside her, Harry reached out, his fingers grasping for her… but his hand slipped right though hers, touching only air. And she stood there, alone. Always alone.

She stayed like that, holding the baby-that-was-Harry tightly, until a loud thud broke the silence of the night, and then she laid him back inside the crib, brushed her fingers lightly against his cheek, and stepped aside, hidden once again within her concealment charm.

She and Harry watched as Hagrid thundered up the stairs, burst into the room, and howled with anguish at the scene laid out before him. He reached into the crib, large tears sliding down his face, and Sara turned and walked out of the room, Harry beside her. He squeezed his eyes shut as his feet carried him down the stairs. He couldn't stand to see any more.

They had just reached the first floor when a cat darted toward them, mewing pitifully at Sara. She reached down and scratched it softly behind the ears, and then, to Harry's surprise, she picked it up and carried it toward the door, and it settled easily into the safety of her arms.

They left Godric's Hollow under the cover of darkness, as the loud roar of a motorcycle rent the still night air, and Harry's heart pounded painfully in his chest.

He found her again as she stood upon the threshold of yet another empty house, the cat held tightly in her arms. He glided alongside her as she waved her wand, magicking furniture into place, fixing photos of a life imagined along the walls.

She changed her face again, her hair turning grey, wrinkles folding upon her skin – her face so familiar, and the closest he had ever seen her to the thousand-year-old witch he knew her to be. The cat she had rescued from the ruins of his parents' house was soon joined by another – and another – until she had surrounded herself with cats and kneazles alike, and the accouterments of a Muggle life she had never known.

He followed her out onto the street – a crisp spring breeze blowing about them, the smell of azaleas heavy on the air – as she strolled past the identical, box-like houses of Privet Drive, until she passed a young woman struggling down the street with a double stroller, two young boys strapped inside.

"Good afternoon, Petunia," Sara croaked, her voice brittle. "Fine day, isn't it? How are little Dudley and little Harry this morning?"

And Petunia Dursley glanced at her with the fake smile that Harry knew so well, the one she reserved for the people far, far beneath her, and said shrilly, "Oh yes, a rather fine morning. Dudders is doing wonderful, of course, and the other one… bratty little thing, he is. Threw such a fit this morning and refused his breakfast. I nearly left him at home! Wouldn't you say that would be good and proper punishment for a spoiled little boy, Mrs. Figg?"

"Oh, I daresay, dear," Sara crooned. "I'd be happy to watch him for you anytime you need a break, Petunia."

"I may just take you up on that," Petunia said briskly. "He really is a little terror. Well have a nice day now."

And she strode off down the street, struggling with the large stroller, as Sara smiled softly to herself and disappeared back into her house, which looked just like all the others, but was actually not at all.

Years later, he looked on as she slipped silently into the restricted section of the Hogwarts library. She stepped easily over the rope, leaving no trace of her presence but a thin, black book upon the topmost corner of the furthest hidden shelf. He gazed at the golden letters painstakingly carved into the spine, and then purposely scuffed with age: _Stories of My Hogwarts, by Ariella Hufflepuff._

He understood, as she set spell after spell, carefully guiding Albus Dumbledore into the dark of the stacks, until his hand brushed upon the spine at last, as an eleven-year-old Harry lay unconscious in the hospital wing, recovering from his second encounter with Voldemort, an unknown future stretching out before him.

He watched, his stomach twisting, as she gasped painfully – grasped at the Dark Mark burning upon her arm; took back her place within the circle in the graveyard, a black hood draped over her face. Voldemort walked among them, returned at last, as Harry, a year younger, stood chained against the tombstone, and Cedric lay lifeless upon the ground.

Her journey became darker then, the obstacles before her taller. And still she forged ahead, not for Voldemort, and not for Dumbledore, but only for Ariella – for Harry – _for the end_.

When she stepped inside her cold house, late at night, she often dropped wearily to her knees, her cats crowding around her, their soft kisses her only protection from the pain. But even they could not wipe away the remnants of the deeds she had been forced to carry out in Voldemort's name; the blood she had seen spilled; the horrors she witnessed firsthand, and then relived after, at Order meetings. Her life became interweaved. Tangled. Until she nearly lost track of the threads. Until she almost didn't know which way was up.

Was it so surprising, then, that she found a small bit of solace in his arms? He – still in love with another, unable to let go – and she, hiding her true self, weaving disguises in the night, knowing his secrets but not sharing her own. They met often, late in the night, his greasy curtain of hair falling upon her face as she embraced him, forgetting herself for small moments in time. Always holding back. Always living a lie.

Later still, she gazed upon the last battle he remembered – the catalyst of change. She watched as Voldemort approached Harry, wand raised, and inhaled sharply as the green burst of magic shot towards Harry, whose Shield Charm flared into a dome around him. She raised her wand.

" _Obtego!_ " she hissed. " _Obtego Arco!"_

He saw, with a surge of understanding, a bright beam of light streak into the fray of the battle: her own protection spell. It collided with Harry's Shield Charm at the same time as the Killing Curse, and the resounding blast echoed throughout the grounds.

The very earth shook beneath their feet and Sara gripped a nearby tree to stay upright, her eyes widening in sudden understanding. It was as if the very universe had shifted. He watched, openmouthed, as the air swirled and sparkled with magical energy – the Killing Curse fighting for dominance against two unique spells of protection, both burning with their refusal to give up – until the light surged outwards with a tremendous bang and dispersed. When it cleared, he saw his limp form lying on the ground at the base of the large oak tree. _Or was he already somewhere else entirely?_

Voldemort scrambled to his feet from where he had fallen. He whirled around; his eyes darting over the Death Eaters sprawled upon the ground. He saw Dumbledore approaching from one side, Sirius closing in from the other. He turned on the spot, vanishing, the protective enchantments broken in the battle. The remaining Death Eaters Disapparated one by one, and as Dumbledore, Sirius, Ron, and Hermione converged on Harry (or was it Daniyel now?), Sara turned away and disappeared into the night.

She stood, invisible, in a dark, cavernous room: the setting of a painting of a Healer, long gone but still remembered. It was late in the night, and the occupant of the portrait snored softly – whether in truth or not, Harry could not decipher. Sara edged around the frame, cloaked in paint, and shadow, and silence. She looked on as Dumbledore stood with Sirius, Ron, and Hermione in the hospital wing, the four of them gathered around a boy whose messy black hair was sticking out from underneath a large bandage. He sat on a bed, staring up at Dumbledore and Sirius with wide eyes, his face pale in the torchlight.

"You're asking me to fight Voldemort?" he said quietly, his voice somewhat shaky. "There's no other way?"

"It is the only way for you to return home," Dumbledore said, his voice kind and reassuring. "Remember, if you choose this path, you will not be alone."

"OK," Daniyel mumbled, "of course… The choice between what is right, and what is easy… isn't it? _I'll do it._ I can't be the reason that Voldemort survives." His eyes were wide, and full of terror and trust, and determination. His face was set, but his hands, which were balled into fists, shook upon the bed.

"We owe you a great debt, Mr. Bluelake," Dumbledore said quietly. "The courage you have shown here is remarkable. I do believe it can be matched only by Harry's own."

Daniyel smiled faintly at these words, his hands still clenched together, and Sara, having seen enough, turned away and drifted towards the back of the room. She slipped silently out of the painting, found herself in the corridor outside the hospital wing, and strode out of the castle, Harry on her heels.

"At last," she murmured as she walked. "It has begun, Ariella. You've always known… _haven't you?_ Just one more now… but don't worry, I'll sort him out on my own." She let her mouth draw up into a sad smile, while her eyes stared dully ahead.

Sara entered the spacious grand foyer silently and walked through the wrecked interior of a large, beautiful house. There were masked and hooded figures sprawled upon the floor, as if thrown there in a fit of rage, some stirring weakly. The smell of burnt clothes and hair hung thick upon the air.

They did not look up as she passed, averting their eyes from her. Her footsteps echoed resonantly as she stepped into the main hall, announcing her arrival. She saw terrified eyes peering at her though a partially open door, but she strode on, finally stepping into the drawing room, where Voldemort stood quite alone. Various trappings littered the floor around him, as if thrown there in a fit of anger, as he trembled with the rage of another failed attempt on Harry Potter's life. Thwarted, just that night, by a mere handful of students on the Quidditch pitch, armed only with resilience and fire.

"My Lord," she said, her voice clear and unafraid – her tone reverent.

"Arabella," Voldemort snarled, whirling around. His blazing red eyes locked on her in anger, piercing straight through her mask and hood. "How dare you disturb me tonight? _Leave_. Or prepare to feel my wrath… as they have."

"My Lord," she said again, "It matters not that you did not take him. It is better, in fact. I have found it at last! I have found Shadow Hogwarts. I come to you from the domain of Salazar Slytherin himself, and I bear the answers you seek."

"You lie," he hissed, and she felt the pressure of his eyes upon her. She flung up the protective wall she had prepared around her mind and his psychic assault bounced off it, re-directed to safer areas of her cognizance, unaware of the defenses she had so carefully woven.

"It is the truth, My Lord," Sara murmured. "Forgive me, but you must stop hunting Harry Potter blindly. I have searched through the archives of Shadow Hogwarts, and it is clear now. There _is_ a way to kill him, which will not only destroy the boy, but also strengthen your own powers, My Lord! It is exactly as you have long suspected. I have seen it with my own eyes."

"Impudence!" he hissed, and a burst of raw magic shot at her, closing in around her throat. It lifted her into the air and slammed her against the nearest wall, choking her. Her hood slipped off her face. _She let it happen._

"M-my Lord," she wheezed. "I swear, it is true… I have it, right here."

She raised a trembling hand, a dark-green tattered book clutched firmly in her shaking fingers. "P-please," she gasped.

The pressure around her throat diminished and she dropped to the ground, coughing. The book slipped from her fingers and floated into Voldemort's outstretched hand. She stumbled to her feet, watching as Voldemort looked over the book suspiciously and opened it, glancing through it.

"Who wrote this?" he spat at her.

"Parts are written by Salazar Slytherin himself," Sara said fervently, no trace of deceit in her voice. "He outlines it all… the _Union of Awakening_ … step by step. There is a prophecy within its pages as well, My Lord. I think you may find it illuminating."

"A prophecy?" Voldemort scoffed, flipping through the book. His eyes skimmed the page. "What's this? It's incomplete."

"It's an old book, My Lord," she murmured. "Damaged with time. But I believe the circle it refers to is the ceremony itself _._ It would allow you to not only kill Harry Potter, but to take his power as well – the full power of Gryffindor. That _is_ why you took his blood, is it not?"

"One reason among many," Voldemort hissed, his eyes flying over the page again, glowing with intrigue. "If what you say is true, this may well change everything. I must see Shadow Hogwarts. Immediately. Where is the castle?"

"In the forests of northern Russia, My Lord. Some sixty miles outside Nautsi."

"Very well," he said coldly. "You will take me there, Arabella. Prepare to leave tonight. You have proven most useful to me in the past, and if everything turns out as you say, you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams. If I find you have told me a single lie, however, you _will_ pay with your life."

"Of course, My Lord," she murmured, bowing deeply as Voldemort swept past her.

The corners of her mouth curled up into a triumphant smirk in the empty room.

They walked together through the cold, Sara and Voldemort, their cloaks swirling around them, Harry drifting in their wake. He stared around at the dark passages, the courtyard – empty now – but already soaked with the blood of his memories. He trembled.

"I can feel the old magic here," Voldemort said, stepping into the center of the courtyard. "It is calling to me."

"Salazar Slytherin carved the circle into the stone himself," Sara murmured, speaking from the truth of her own memory. "They say he intended it for Godric Gryffindor, My Lord, but... they both fell here. You can finish his work now. You can sacrifice Harry Potter upon these very stones… and then you shall have… everything."

"Yes," Voldemort said softly. "I will make it so." He turned to face her. "You have done well to bring me here, Arabella.

"This will require careful planning. I tire of Malfoy Manor – this shall become our new base. It is only appropriate for the true Heir of Slytherin to rule from within his sacred walls. I shall have need of my best lieutenants. Azkaban must be broken open. See that it is done.

"I know you are well placed within the resistance, Arabella. When the time is right, you will bring Harry Potter to me."

"I would be honored," she said, bowing low before him.

Time shifted then. He stood beside her as she knelt before Voldemort, in a windowless stone room, familiar to him only from a dream. It was lit with the flickering light of several torches.

"He has been clamoring to enter my inner circle for months," Voldemort said softly. "I had to test him, you see. I had Lucius lay a path for him to the crystal caves – my sanctum on the Cliffs of Moher. And can you imagine, Arabella, who he returned with, after he ultimately discovered it?" His voice had grown into an angry hiss, the words barely discernable as they throbbed with anger. "I felt _Dumbledore's_ own magical energy touching upon _my sacred ground_. I have long suspected it, and there is no question now. Snape belongs to Dumbledore. He must be killed. You will do it."

"It will be done, My Lord," she murmured. Her voice was calm, detached; but having walked beside her for so long, Harry could sense the anguish spilling out of her.

"I have ordered him to come tomorrow night," Voldemort said coldly, "to the asylum in London. He is to report on Dumbledore's movements, and I expect he hopes to gain entry into Shadow Hogwarts in return. You will meet him, with a contingent of four of my most trusted. You will kill him."

"Couldn't he be useful alive?" she said. "Couldn't you use his double allegiance to your benefit?"

"Do not presume to question me!" he spat, his red eyes flashing with anger. "You are already my spy in the Order. I have no use for another if he cannot stay loyal to his master. You are among my best lieutenants, Arabella, but I will not have you questioning me. _Is that understood_?"

"Yes. It will be done, My Lord."

"Very well," he said, as Nagini slithered into the room and surrounded him, her long form slipping up the length of his body until she had draped herself around his shoulders. The long lost shadow of a girl. "Leave me now."

Sara stepped out of the room, drawing a clenched fist across her heart, and Harry stood back, invisible, unable to console her, wondering how much more he could possibly stand.

She watched Snape from beneath her invisible veil, four Death Eaters at her side, as he stepped into the library, stumbled into their carefully woven trap. Harry could not imagine how she did not break apart inside, but she did not hesitate as she lifted the spell. She had chosen her path; she would not waver.

"Severus," she hissed, drawing closer to the man as he stumbled back from her. She had lowered her voice into a rasp – could not face him as herself.

"Bellatrix, is that you?" he sneered.

She started to laugh, drowning him out, her laugh growing louder and wilder, and Harry caught the undertone of anguish beneath it.

"I'm afraid this is the end, Severus," she whispered, when she had regained control of her voice.

She advanced on him, watching in silence as he tried to reason his way out. Harry looked between them, barely breathing, the gravity of it all tearing him apart, as Sara unleashed her will upon Snape, nearly laying him flat, and launched an attack directly on his mind. Harry knew then, she had hoped to end it quickly, had hoped to shut his mind down before a fight could break out; but perhaps she could not do it, or perhaps he was simply stronger than she had anticipated, for he fought her off.

She stepped back, never faltering in her role. Her audience was watching with bated breath. Her stage was raised so high – and she could not afford to fall. The whole world hung in the balance.

"Oh, Severus," she crooned. "You still love the Mudblood? After all this time?"

_What else could she do, but play out the villain?_

Harry stood back as the fight broke out, his eyes rather wet as he watched her raise her wand against Snape again and again, each blow falling short of the final deed. She could end it easily, he knew, but how could she gather the strength to slay the one man she had grown to love?

The anguish that flooded Snape's dark eyes when he had thrown back her hood was beyond anything Harry could have imagined. Snape gazed at Sara in frozen silence, and she at him, hesitating, the fire glowing around them. Sara raised her wand then, and Harry knew she meant to do it now, meant to strike the final blow, and when Snape managed to break free, to Disapparate from within her grasp, she shrieked not in rage, but in immeasurable grief.

Harry crouched in the snow beside Sara, as Tonks took off toward the castle with Daniyel, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny in her wake. Snape looked up at her weakly, his eyes pools of pain and betrayal.

"I found you," she said quietly. Her voice shook. "I found you first, Severus. Do not be afraid."

He opened his mouth, closed it, but no sound came out. He lay on the snow at her mercy, his body lacking the strength to fight her off.

"Don't try and speak," she said softly. "I have taken your voice. You cannot be part of this fight anymore… I'm so sorry. But no, I will not kill you," she added in a whisper, her face breaking into a small smile as she shook her head. Tears trailed freely down her cheeks now as she crouched beside him in the melting snow. "A small victory for us, Severus. You see, you are _alive_ , and they cannot come back and find you gone. They will suspect. So I will make Voldemort understand that this is for the best. You will sleep… until this is over – until I am gone. You _will_ understand. You will know, when it's time. You will find it at last. Goodbye, Severus. Thank you, for everything."

She laid a hand across his face, whispered a quiet word, and his eyes flickered shut at her touch. Harry smiled softly as she sat beside Snape in silence, composing herself, and then drawing her wand along Snape's torso, closing – one by one – the wounds she had inflicted upon him, until Tonks returned at last with Pomfrey at her heels.

She had saved him after all.

Time flew forward again, passing in dollops.

He watched her slice out a break, a way through the Presidium Wards surrounding Hogwarts, and lead a group of Death Eaters to take them from the shore of the lake: Daniyel, Ron, and Hermione. The pain of betrayal in their eyes; he imagined it cut into her like a knife. But her life had become a series of betrayals by then, and she wore them all like armor. She had grown so good at playing the villain that when she laughed or threw out lies, sometimes even Harry could barely see through them. She _was_ the ultimate double agent; some things she spoke were truths.

She left Voldemort with Daniyel by the lake, following the Death Eaters as they dragged Ron and Hermione into the forest, Hermione glaring at her with broken resentment the whole time, until they cleared the boundaries of the castle, turned on the spot, and vanished, reappearing again and again, until they walked at last through a painfully familiar forest, the night cold and dark around them.

When he looked up, Shadow Hogwarts loomed menacingly in the distance.

She stood back, waiting patiently as Daniyel was placed upon the stone table. And as Harry watched the first attempt at the Union unfold, for the third time now, he realized he had been meant to see it – had been meant to come running. Had been meant… to finish Voldemort.

"I don't understand," Sara murmured, when Voldemort turned the fury of his failed attempt upon her, after. She let him throw her back. She could match him, Harry knew, power for power, if she chose. She looked on in silence, as Voldemort threw the Cruciatus Curse at Daniyel, who screamed in agony. Harry had seen it all before, but he saw the pain in her eyes now, buried deep beneath her mask.

"My Lord, it is not over," she said hurriedly. "We can make another attempt. We have until sunrise. Let us scour the archives. I am certain that if we find the full text…"

"Then find it!" Voldemort spat at her, and she hurried out of the courtyard, Bellatrix at her heels. They entered the quiet hush of the library, bathed in its strange blue glow.

"Check the main level," Sara instructed her. "Anything related to the Union… we must see where we failed the Dark Lord. I will search below."

She left Bellatrix among the stacks and descended into the darkness of the lower levels of the library. She had cells she needed to locate – the moment was drawing near. And she had already left a book, after all, for Bellatrix to find. A book that outlined every step of the Union of Awakening, including a note about the proper position of the alignment of the stars. Bellatrix would discover that they had rushed, had acted too quickly, had not waited until the proper moment to begin the ceremony. It would be the reason they would blame for the failure of their first attempt. It was too much, after all, to imagine that the Harry Potter they had taken from Hogwarts… was not Harry Potter at all.

She stood, invisible, watching as Harry and Daniyel stumbled out of their cell unaided. Her face lifted into a grim smile, and she stepped back as they stumbled past her. She was simply a guide, an observer; perhaps their need of her was waning as the hour drew near. She drifted away, slipping inside the library. They would need the stacks, at least, to make their ascent to ground level, and a simple _Elicio_ should be enough to draw them to the door.

She looked on, hidden, as they entered the library at last. Found each other. Time was flying now, speeding, the moment almost upon them. Harry wondered if she felt the heavy mantle of it as she led Ella carefully, so carefully, through the stacks, until Ella finally brushed her hand against the concealed door. The path they had chosen so cautiously, laid out for them, step by step.

She waited for them on the upper level, empty now. Bellatrix, back at Voldemort's side and aglow in his favor, would lead the charge down to the dungeons shortly and discover them missing. She had only moments. She stepped forward as Harry and Daniyel approached, their faces hidden beneath masks that would not fool her. She had seen what was underneath.

"What is it?" Harry heard himself say. His voice, pitched low, still sounded unmistakably like himself, and Sara laughed softly – whether amused by his attempt at disguise, or still in the thick of her own, he couldn't tell.

She attacked them, holding them down with the force of her will; she had not intended to bring them harm. Harry watched in mute comprehension as she knocked him down, saw glowing white energy coalesce around his head, and realized that Sara was not, in fact, attacking him, but giving him knowledge – giving him the information he needed, to do what must be done.

He had heard her bare whisper, after all, before the words melted into the heavy air. _Induo Indicium._ A spell too strong to go unspoken, even for her.

She had shot it at him like a cannon blast.

Just then, Ella broke free of the holding spell and threw Sara back with the sheer intensity of her will as Harry looked on in a jumble of pride and sadness. The fight broke out in earnest then; his friends trying their best to take her down, and Sara pushing easily back. The noise they were making echoed through Shadow Hogwarts like a siren, projecting their location to every Death Eater in the castle, and she could not let them all be taken, could not give away their secret.

She threw books and magic around the room haphazardly, intentionally forcing Daniyel, Robert, and Hermione into the cover of the stacks, where they stayed hidden as Death Eaters rushed into the library. Sara jabbed her wand at Ella and Ron, forcing Ella away from Harry and lifting them both into the air. Harry cried out as he saw them struggling, gasping for air; but she could not let them see – as she dropped hurriedly down beside Harry – the wand that she shoved securely back into his robes.

"I've got him," she said calmly, rising to meet the new arrivals. "I've got Potter. His friends too."

"Excellent," sneered Malfoy's familiar drawl. "The Dark Lord was growing displeased. Understandably."

"Yes, they're a slippery bunch, aren't they?" she said coolly, as she released Ron and Ella to the Death Eaters surrounding them. They gasped hungrily at the air as their wands were ripped away. "But Potter's disarmed and down for the count. I don't imagine he'll be any more trouble."

One of the Death Eaters stepped forward to join her, and together they hauled Harry to his feet.

"Bring them to the circle," Malfoy commanded, his voice rising excitedly. "It's time. _It's time._ "

The Harry who followed Sara like a shadow glanced back as they filed out of the library, and could just make out Hermione, Robert, and Daniyel looking on with anxious eyes as they slipped silently out of the dark.

He stood back as Sara pushed Harry towards the circle. He saw her shove him sideways, just so, until his wand jammed into his side. It had all been intentional, he realized. All planned out. And now he stood there, ready to take on the greatest enemy he had ever faced, armed with the knowledge of what must be done, and the wand he needed to do it.

Harry turned away, unable to watch it all play out again, and he saw Robert and Hermione edging around the shadows, getting slowly into position as they surveyed the scene before them. A cloaked, hooded figure, which he now realized was Daniyel, was walking slowly and deliberately towards the center of the courtyard. No one gave him a second glance.

He watched, almost in slow motion, as Ella turned her gaze upon Sara and the man holding Harry and, in a flash of fury, sent a spurt of fire at their backs. He wondered then if Sara could have prevented it, but had simply elected not to. Had she known, even then, that her time upon this earth was finally running out? Was this the moment she had chosen, as her moment to let go?

He watched chaos break out as his past self threw Sara and the Death Eater back out of the circle. The fire blustered outward, alighting in several places around the courtyard, and Death Eaters screamed as they jumped out of the way. Ron fought his way free of his captor, jumping into the fray of the battle. Ella thundered forward, throwing more fire around to clear a path as she charged towards Harry and the circle. Daniyel stepped forward, aimed his wand at Voldemort, and shouted, " _Stupefy!_ " but Voldemort defended easily, launching himself at Harry. And then Hermione and Robert darted out of the shadows, Hermione brandishing her wand, and Robert his sword, and they launched themselves into the fight.

He dropped down beside Sara as the battle raged around them. She lay upon the ground, her face scrunched up in pain. Her back had burnt badly. Her robes were scorched away and the skin beneath the layers of cloth looked raw and black in the dim light. But even as Harry watched, she raised herself onto her elbows and pointed her wand at his friends in turn, murmuring " _Obtego!_ " over and over again; adding, in between them and their attackers, just a small bit of protection. He stared, open-mouthed, as her spell hit Robert's sword, which took on a soft blue glow. When the next Death Eater launched a spell at it, it bounced off, careening into the night, until it found its target among the cloaked and hooded figures that advanced on them all. But still, she persisted, her work still undone, using the last bits of her energy, the last bits of her life, to aim spells at the Death Eaters that advanced on them all. And they fell before her, unknowing. Unprotected. Unseeing.

Harry sat beside her as Daniyel's icy storm exploded through the courtyard, freezing half the remaining Death Eaters in place before it crashed into the outer perimeter of the circle, forming the unintended wall. He watched, not really seeing, as spells flew around haphazardly. He saw it all play out before him like a film, as Hermione took on three Death Eaters at once, attacking them with a ferocity he could not have imagined, and managing to take out two of them, before she collapsed, broken and bleeding, at the hands of the third. He watched as Ron ran to her side in a fury, thrusting himself into the battle until the last Death Eater lay motionless at his feet and then he turned, Hermione safely behind him, to take on the rest as they bore down on him. He saw Robert darting throughout the courtyard, whirling his sword as Death Eaters backed away, unsure what to make of him, until they were brought down by Ella, or by Daniyel, who waited with magic to catch them unaware. He watched as Daniyel turned away, made his way towards the circle, towards Harry – blasting Nagini out of the way as she reared to strike, her jaw gaping wide. He pressed his wand against it and slipped easily through the ice, as if it were a mirage. He saw as Rookwood's Blasting Curse crashed into the wall of the castle, causing an avalanche of stone to hurtle to the ground and knock Ella aside. His heart thudded painfully in his chest.

But he did not move.

He was less than ghost. Insubstantial. And he had seen the aftermath of this battle. They would be all right, he knew. Broken. But _alive_. But Sara would not walk away from this. And even if he was invisible, even if the tears upon his face were no more solid than air, even if she could not see or sense him, he had walked with her through more days than he could count. He had watched her make sacrifice after sacrifice. And after all that, after all the lives that she had lived, he could not bear to see her take her last breath alone.

It happened in an instant. One moment she lay there, gasping softly from the pain, watching the battle with glazed eyes, and then – as a blinding explosion of light erupted above the wall of ice – her eyes widened, cleared, and her lips drew up into a smile. And then he saw it, only because he was looking – the soft yellow glow upon her brow. It started on her forehead, where a thousand years ago Ariella had pressed a ribbon against her skin, and then it spread, until it encompassed her whole body.

"Like a phoenix…" Sara whispered softly, and Harry saw, through his own tears, that she was crying.

He reached out and, for just a moment, his fingers closed around her hand, and he could feel the touch of her skin beneath his. Warm in the night. Her eyes found his. Widened.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She slightly inclined her head in acknowledgement. Her eyes, still wet, shone with relief. And she was gone.

Her hand dropped softly to the stony ground, and he was left clutching at empty air, in the throes of a profound sadness, as the courtyard faded, for the last time, to black.


	29. Truth at Last

**Chapter Twenty-Nine:**

_Truth at Last_

.

When he opened his eyes again, he found that they were rather wet.

He reached up with one hand and brushed it across his face before squinting at his blurry surroundings. He recognized the familiar furnishings of the hospital wing. It was a place he was rather accustomed to waking up in, though not for quite a while, and his face broke into a small nostalgic smile. He saw her then, looking intently at him. She smiled when she caught his eye.

"You're alive," she said. It was hard to tell without his glasses, but he thought her eyes were glistening. "I figured you'd make it. Ron wasn't so sure, but I bet him a bag full of Chocolate Frogs. He really likes those, you know. I hope he won't be too disappointed."

"Ella…" he mumbled.

"I'm only joking, of course." She grinned. "Ron would never bet his frogs away, you know…"

"Ella," he tried again, and he reached for her hand. He had to tell her, while he still remembered. It was important that she understood. She grasped his hand in hers, her fingers soft and warm against his palm. "You didn't kill her," Harry murmured. "You didn't... Sara didn't die because of you."

"Who's Sara?" she asked in confusion.

"Arabella," Harry clarified. "She was innocent. And you didn't kill her. _You didn't_." He smiled. "It's all right."

She looked at him slowly, appraising him. Then she nodded. "Okay. I'm a tad confused, Harry… but I'm sure you'll explain. But first…"—she turned away from him and called out over her shoulder—"he's OK! Harry's awake!"

There were excited shouts from across the room, and before he knew it Ron was there, and Robert, and then Hermione and Daniyel appeared behind them, both heavily bandaged; all of them grinning. Hermione gingerly threw her arms around him, and Ella joined in, and then Daniyel, and before they knew it, the five of them were clustered together around Harry; crying and laughing in a confused mess until Madam Pomfrey appeared and sent them back to their beds. And as Harry lay back while she scrutinized him, still smiling from their group embrace, for a second, he truly felt like everything would be all right.

* * *

The six of them sat together in Dumbledore's office, staring at him as he looked at them all intently over his half-moon spectacles. The setting sun was streaming in through the large windows behind him, casting the room in a soft golden glow. In a way, Harry reasoned, the sun was setting on this chapter at last.

"You have all done a truly remarkable thing," Dumbledore told them as he looked around at the six teenagers assembled before him. "Let me just be the first to say how incredibly proud I am of all of you. Doing the right thing is not easy, but you have all managed it extraordinarily." Dumbledore then glanced at Harry and smiled. "Harry. Once again, I find myself inspired by your tremendous courage. I have heard most of the details of what has transpired at Shadow Hogwarts, but there are a few things that are still unclear. Daniyel has told me you had intrinsic knowledge of the Union of Awakening when you stepped inside the circle. Can you tell me what happened?"

Harry glanced around at their curious faces, took a painful, fortifying breath, and told them about Sara. When he finished, a shocked silence hung heavily in the air.

"How extraordinary…" Dumbledore murmured. He intertwined his fingers and looked around the room. "Professor Snape awoke in the early hours of the morning, after the night of the Union. He was able to tell us the location of Shadow Hogwarts at last, and described his final confrontation with Arabella Figg. We deduced that she had been making some movements against Voldemort from within… but this goes much deeper than anything we could have imagined. Sara Slytherin herself…" He trailed off, deep in thought.

Harry stared up at Dumbledore as he pondered this, and the pieces in his own mind fell, unquestioningly, into place. "You knew this whole time, didn't you?" Harry said quietly. Everything had suddenly become painfully clear. It was impossible, after all, for Dumbledore to not have known exactly how this would play out. "You may not have known about Sara, but you _knew_ about the Union. You _knew_ about the prophecy. You intended for me to go… with Ron and Hermione… _and with Daniyel, and Robert, and Ella too._ " His friends were staring, openmouthed, as he glared up at Dumbledore, his voice rising in accusation. " _From the beginning!_ You lied to us this whole time! Did we even need to be fighting, for the Spell of Return to work?! _I trusted you, Professor_. _Why_ didn't you just tell me? Did you think I wouldn't be willing to face him?"

Dumbledore looked at Harry calmly, his blue eyes staring into Harry's green ones. The room was silent, as if they were all holding their breath.

"I didn't know everything," Dumbledore said finally. The weight of the entire world seemed to hang between his words. "I didn't know what the Union entailed, and I didn't have the full prophecy at hand, Harry. But _yes_.

"Voldemort, as you yourself have told me, had taken steps to root himself to this life. The Union was the only way to destroy that hold. And I needed you to stay in Daniyel's world until he was ready. _Until you were all ready._ Because it would have been impossible to stop him otherwise… and I knew that, in the end, you would all have to face him." He looked around the room, his eyes meeting those of Daniyel, Ron, Hermione, Ella, and Robert. " _Together_."

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Harry repeated, after what felt like an eternity of silence.

Dumbledore sighed heavily, and when he spoke, it was in an echo of his usual tone. His voice was almost pleading. "I thought we had more _time_ , Harry. It was never a question of whether I believed that you would be willing to do what needed to be done. _I_ just wasn't willing to let you shoulder that burden for any longer than you needed to. A mistake, of course. You have long proven yourself to be more than capable."

Harry looked down. It was misguided, but he could see the kindness within the gesture, and he wasn't sure he could attack Dumbledore for it. Dumbledore, who had always held all the answers. Who had stood behind Harry unflinchingly. Guiding him. Protecting him _. Until this moment._ How much had he left up to chance?

"What did you know?" Harry said finally. His voice was resigned.

Dumbledore reached into his desk drawer and took out an old black book. Harry recognized it at once.

"Sara left that for you," he said quietly, as Dumbledore flipped it open. "She made sure you would find it."

"Ah. Of course," Dumbledore said. He flipped carefully through the pages, stopping about halfway through the book. Then he read aloud:

 _From within a place of light, darkness will rise and bring the night._  
_The fire of the Lion will clash with the wrath of the Snake,_  
_and when the foundation collapses, in its wake_  
_the shadow of safety will rise up, dark and cloistered,_  
_a broken reflection sheathed in darkness uncovered,_  
_and all will break upon the stone, the Lion bested,_  
_the Serpent scorned, and both will fall, accosted._  
_But it will not end, not until centuries past,_  
_when true heirs come to blows, with one soul laid to rest._  
_When the power of the Snake stands fortified with the blood,_  
_and the Lion is encumbered – broken, but not,_  
_the Snake will call forth–_

He paused there and glanced up at them. "Some of the rest is missing, I'm afraid. I do suspect it deals with the details of the Union of Awakening – but nevertheless, there is enough to piece it together. Unless, Harry, you are familiar with the contents in their entirety?"

"Er–" Harry said, allowing himself to fall back into memories of Sara. Could he recall any more than a few scattered lines?

"I have it," Hermione said abruptly. They all turned to stare at her as she withdrew a thin book from her pocket – the very book Harry had seen Sara place upon a shelf of the lower level of the library, shortly before she led Ella to the stone door. His eyes widened in surprise. "I found this at Shadow Hogwarts," Hermione added _. Had Sara known someone would?_ _Hoped, perhaps?_ Dumbledore inclined his head in her direction, and she read:

 _The Snake will call forth the true strength of their age,_  
_and bring forth their power, and the battle will rage._  
_But the first, who stood strong, may be one to forget_  
_the gift given the other, the time they first met._  
_So they stand, equal footing, both with chance to draw favor._  
_The circle, untethered, will choose which will waver._  
_They will trade blood for strength, blood for time, tainted all._  
_And within that dark circle, one will break; one will fall._  
_In the end, the one thing, that could help shift the tide,_  
_is together the two, and the six, and the strengths they all hide._  
_And the worlds that were one could break free – stand their own._  
_It is only that way, that peace could be known._

Dumbledore put his fingers together and nodded once when she was finished. Ella, Daniyel, Ron, and Robert sat open-mouthed.

" _The two, and the six, and the strengths they all hide_?" Daniyel repeated slowly. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Dumbledore said heavily, "that a group of six – three sets of twins, I gather – would be able to shift the balance of power within the Union _just enough_ for a victory for peace.

"The first part of the prophecy refers to the rise and fall of Shadow Hogwarts and Gryffindor and Slytherin's final battle. The middle section outlines the Union of Awakening, delineating how either Harry or Voldemort could be triumphant when the spell is cast. But the last piece, which I do believe is key, was undecipherable until the moment of the switch last October. That is to say, Daniyel, that the three of you"—he glanced at both Robert and Ella as he spoke—"were an instrumental part of this final battle."

"We were _meant_ to help Harry fight Voldemort?" Ella breathed. " _From the beginning?_ But how can that be?"

"I can't answer that, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said. "I understand this differs from your perception of our world, Miss Foster. But I do believe the world you've known and the world that _is_ have become quite untethered." He smiled at them.

"But what powers does it mean?" Daniyel asked. "My magic? And Ella's magic, then? But what about Rob?" He glanced at Robert, who sat in silence by the door. "Rob hasn't got any magic. Has he?"

"Nothing quite as direct as what you and Miss Foster have been able to accomplish," Dumbledore acknowledged. "But that said, I can sense the flow of magic within you as well, Mr. Murphie."

"What?" Robert said slowly.

"Rob has magic too?" Ella gasped. " _I knew it!_ Rob, you see, you can cast–"

"It is not quite a magic like that," Dumbledore said quietly, and she broke off into silence. "I don't know that you will ever be able to cast a spell, Mr. Murphie. But magic _is_ within you. It augments who you are and feeds off your courage. And perhaps, protects you." He smiled. "Perhaps you have it to thank, for walking out of Shadow Hogwarts alive."

Ella looked disappointed. Robert, however, smiled and nodded.

"That's OK," he said. "It was enough to get us through this, and that's more than enough for me."

"Well stated," Dumbledore said, inclining his head in Robert's direction.

"But why?" Daniyel interrupted abruptly. They all glanced at him. " _Why_ does Rob have magic?" he clarified. "Why does _Ella_? _Why do I_ , for that matter? You've never really explained, Professor. But it seems so odd that all three of us would suddenly have magic, when you've said we come from a non-magical word."

"It is not actually odd at all," Dumbledore said. "You see, all these parallel worlds are just different versions of the here and now. And within these different worlds exist different versions of yourselves. The world you come from, and this world – they are hardly the only ones.

"You were born in your world as Daniyel, Robert, and Ella, but in other worlds you wear many different names. And in _this_ world, you are, in essence, Harry, Ronald, and Hermione. You may have different identities, different families, and in some worlds you may never meet at all," he continued as they stared, astounded, "but because there are versions of yourselves that _are_ magical, and you are, in fact, connected, that magic is within all of you. And at times, if you are more attuned to it, you may be able to draw upon it. Most often, in times of great need – as Miss Foster has done quite impressively, and as, in a different sense, Mr. Murphie has done as well. In a non-magical world, this magic would almost definitely have simply remained untapped."

"So we're… are you saying we're essentially the same people, Professor?" Hermione said slowly, looking around the room.

"The same, and yet not the same," Dumbledore said. "You are enough alike, for Daniyel to have been able to walk inside the circle during the Union, but yet different enough, that it did not work when Voldemort attempted to sacrifice him alone."

Daniyel looked down, nodding thoughtfully. "I see."

"That's…" Hermione said, staring around with wide eyes. "That's absurd!"

"Actually, it totally makes sense," Ella said helpfully. "It's a multiverse! Didn't I say so?" She turned to Harry, who nodded mutedly. She had, in fact, said so. A lifetime ago.

"So there could be a hundred different versions of us?" Ron asked.

"Indeed, Mr. Weasley." Dumbledore nodded. "Hundreds. Thousands. Perhaps more."

"Wild," Ron said.

Harry, whose head was buzzing with all this new information, filed it away for later contemplation and addressed Dumbledore again.

"So Voldemort is… gone," he said, looking down briefly. He still wasn't sure how to reconcile what he had done – as much as it had been necessary. "Now what? You've kept us locked up in the hospital wing for days without a word of what's been happening."

"A happier conversation." Dumbledore smiled. "After the Order located you in the forest, Kingsley, Remus, and Nymphadora led a group into Shadow Hogwarts and secured the castle with the help of the Russian Ministry of Magic. Because of your efforts, the remaining Death Eaters from Voldemort's inner circle at Shadow Hogwarts, as well as additional supporters at Malfoy Manor, have all been apprehended. News of Voldemort's defeat has traveled swiftly. The wizarding world has cause to celebrate at last.

"But, perhaps most importantly for _you_ , Harry; with the capture of Peter Pettigrew, the Ministry has, _finally_ , accepted that Sirius is an innocent man."

Harry felt like there was a strange buzzing in his ears. He stared at Dumbledore in shock as he continued speaking, a smile now gracing his face. "Pettigrew has confessed to everything after he was picked up by Aurors, and Sirius's name has been completely cleared. He is currently at the Ministry, working out some of the details, but he is free at last, Harry. He will no longer have to hide. And I see no reason, now, that we cannot reconsider your living arrangements – if that is still something that you want."

Harry opened his mouth and closed it. He felt like there was something stuck in his throat, preventing him from speaking.

" _Harry_ ," Hermione gasped, "that's _wonderful_! You can live with Sirius!"

"I – yeah," Harry mumbled, staring down at his knees. His eyes had become rather blurry and he blinked hurriedly, avoiding their gazes. Ron clapped him on the shoulder in a brotherly sort of way that Harry appreciated more than he could say. He looked up at last and saw them all looking at him with smiles. Ella was beaming widely.

"Good on you, mate," Ron said.

" _Harry, that's amazing!_ " Ella cried, barely containing her enthusiasm. "Your aunt and uncle can go – er – you can all enjoy yourselves much more effectively in separate locations."

She looked slightly abashed and Harry laughed in amused relief and glanced over at Dumbledore, who had become incredibly interested in his intertwined fingers. He decided it would be best to change the subject before he either started crying in earnest at the thought of leaving the Dursleys at last, or Ella landed herself in detention or something of that sort.

"Everyone out there… what do they know?"

"If you are asking, Harry, if the wizarding population at large knows you were involved, then I am afraid I will have to confirm that this is so," Dumbledore said with a small smile. "They are, as of yet, unaware of Daniyel, Robert, and Ella's involvement – though considering how many have seen them, I am unsure how long they can remain anonymous. But that is one of the reasons we have not allowed any visitors in the hospital wing as of yet." Dumbledore looked at Daniyel, Ella, and Robert as he continued. "Your presence here is a bit difficult to explain; even in the magical world, traveling between alternate worlds is not typically something that's possible, or even fathomable. This might, in fact, be the only occurrence – and we now know it only happened because of Sara's interference, unintended as it may have been. That said, I do not believe there is any danger to you, but is your involvement in this something the three of you would prefer to keep to yourselves?"

Daniyel, Ella, and Robert glanced at each, unsure, until Daniyel finally said, "I don't think it matters, Professor. We have to go back home either way, don't we? But we… we _can_ go back, right?"

"Yes, you can go back," Dumbledore said. "I do not have unlimited knowledge in this area of magic, but because this is not inherently your world, I will be able to send you back, just in this one instance. You will not be able to return."

Daniyel nodded sadly and looked down. Ella shot a quick glance at Harry, her face absolutely crestfallen, and even Robert looked downcast. And then Dumbledore, who had been watching them all, added, "Unless you'd like to stay, of course?"

"Stay?" Ella gasped, staring up at him. " _Stay at Hogwarts?_ "

"You do have magic," Dumbledore said kindly as he looked into their shocked faces, "and thus you are welcome to stay and study here at Hogwarts. All of you. But once you leave, you will not be able to come back. And if you choose to stay, you will have to leave everything behind. So this is not a decision to make lightly."

Ella turned to Harry, who felt his heart speed up suddenly. For just a moment her eyes glowed with the light of an impossible idea, and Harry almost let himself imagine it: strolling along the Hogwarts grounds with Ella. Holding her hand in the shadow of the great oak tree by the lake. But then she glanced at Daniyel and Robert, who were both wearing similar expressions, and the glow abruptly faded from her face.

"We can't do that," she mumbled, and Harry felt his heart shatter once more. He berated himself for entertaining the idea at all.

"We have people waiting back home," Daniyel said in quiet agreement. "Responsibilities."

"Movies to shoot and all," Robert said with a crooked grin.

"The fans would be incredibly disappointed," Ella added with a forced laugh. She turned her face away from Harry, unwilling to meet his gaze. " _And my mum would never forgive me._ "

"Of course," Dumbledore said. "Quite understandable. If that is your decision, I will be happy to send you all back, once Madam Pomfrey sees fit to release you from her care, of course.

"And if you have no objections, then I am inclined to be upfront with the wizarding community about what really happened at Shadow Hogwarts – or I am afraid the stories that will circulate will be even more incredible than the truth. And in the end, candor is always the best path forward."

"I would be honored," Ella murmured, "to be part of this moment in history. With all of you." She smiled at them all through slightly teary eyes, and Daniyel and Robert nodded mutely at her words. Hermione inhaled sharply and glanced away, as if she couldn't bear the thought of parting with them all, and even Ron looked uncharacteristically downcast. And as he looked at them all, Harry realized that as miserable as he felt about losing them, he was entirely not alone.

They walked back to the hospital wing in silence down deserted, moonlit corridors. Their minds were still reeling from what they had learned as they painfully counted down the time until they would part ways. As they walked, Ella slipped her fingers through Harry's, and he squeezed her hand tightly, ignoring the shocked looks from Ron and Daniyel, and the sympathetic one from Hermione.

How many more days did they have together, before they had to say goodbye once more? How many hours?

_How many minutes?_


	30. Goodbye

**Chapter Thirty:**

_Goodbye_

.

Madam Pomfrey insisted they all stay in the hospital wing for several more days while Hermione and Daniyel recovered from their many injuries — a course of action that left Daniyel, Ella, and Robert simultaneously relieved to not be leaving Hogwarts immediately, and anxious about the state of things back home.

Their extended stay was spent mostly in each other's company, and punctuated by visits from worried friends and family, most of whom could not believe their eyes when they saw Daniyel, Ella, and Robert. Mrs. Weasley made a point of hugging each and every one of them upon arrival, while Mr. Weasley questioned them thoroughly about the filming process, and — as Harry had suspected he would — cell phones. Fred and George had, for once, momentarily found themselves at a loss for words, before they began animatedly discussing Daniyel's flying abilities, and reviewing their last few Quidditch matches in a new light.

Harry was incredibly happy to see them all, especially Sirius, who turned up, beaming, late the following afternoon, and caught Harry in a one-armed hug. But the most memorable visit was perhaps from Ginny, who flitted into the hospital wing as they sat alone on the evening following their conversation with Dumbledore. She banged the door behind her rather abruptly as she stared at them all, her eyes widening.

"So it's true then?" she said quietly, her eyes moving between Harry and Daniyel. "There's really two of you."

She walked deliberately towards them, and as she made her way between the empty beds, they could see that her eyes were blazing fiercely. She stopped in front of Daniyel.

"So," she said again, "you really aren't Harry."

"No…" Daniyel said. He felt simultaneously ashamed and relieved to admit it. "I suppose it's a bit late for introductions, but my name is Daniyel. Hi." Ginny ignored this.

"I can't believe it," she said, undeterred. "This whole time. Six months. And you've just been… _pretending_?"

"He's really good at that," Ron supplied helpfully. "He's an actor, you know."

Ginny shot him a withering look and he fell silent.

"I'm _so sorry_ , Ginny," Daniyel said. "Honest. Professor Dumbledore made me promise not to tell anyone. I couldn't say _anything_. Believe me, _I wanted to_." He realized as he said the words that they were true. He may have been building a friendship with Ginny for Harry (which now seemed like an entirely lost cause), but in the end she had become someone he could call a friend all his own.

She nodded once and shot Harry a quick glance before turning back to Daniyel. "You seemed different," she acknowledged, "but not in any discernible way. Harry and I haven't really spent all that much time together, to be honest"—she glanced at Harry thoughtfully again—"so I just didn't realize, I suppose. I just… I don't know what to say. I thought we were becoming friends, getting closer, but now _I don't even know who you are_."

"I'm Daniyel," he repeated miserably. "I'm still your friend, I hope. I'm still the same person."

"But you're not," she said, a little sadly. She glanced around at their faces again, her eyes lingering on Ella, who was sitting beside Harry on his bed. As Ginny met her eyes, Ella glanced down at her hands, her cheeks reddening slightly. Harry looked between them, completely bewildered. Daniyel correctly interpreted that Harry had not, in fact, ventured into his bookshelf and read _Half Blood Prince_. Ginny seemed to be at a loss for words.

"Ginny…" Daniyel began. He felt the need to say something, _anything_ , to explain. To fix this. To make it clear that, above everything, he hadn't meant to hurt her.

She shook her head abruptly. "Don't. I thought—" She glanced away, falling silent. "Never mind. I'm sorry. I've gotta go."

She darted away before any of them could say a word. She had made her way halfway to the door when Daniyel called her name again and she drew to a reluctant halt, though she refrained from turning around.

"Ginny," Daniyel repeated pleadingly, "I'm so sorry I wasn't honest with you. I know you're angry. If you want me to get stuffed I totally understand. But, please, Dumbledore's sending us back soon — me, Rob, and Ella. And I hope we can at least say goodbye."

She was silent for several moments, still facing away from them. When she spoke at last, her voice was thick with emotion. "You're going back? _Forever_?"

"Yeah."

She turned around then, and he could see that her eyes, which were usually glowing with fierce determination, were instead glistening with tears. She walked back to Daniyel in silence and stopped in front of him once more. They stared at each other, and before he could say anything, she abruptly leaned down and hugged him. For a moment, all he could see was the bright red of her hair.

He reached up and hugged her back; biting back the stab of sadness he felt when he realized that they would no longer be able to just sit down in the common room and talk. They would not be able to meet up in the Owlery. They would not ever be able to have another snowball fight, or go flying, or share a Chocolate Frog again. Too soon, she had loosened her grip around him, and he let go of her as well, not wanting to overstep.

"Goodbye, Daniyel," Ginny whispered, and then she stepped back, glanced at them all once more, and walked out of the hospital wing, her face marked with tears.

"Bye, Ginny," Daniyel said quietly, but she had almost reached the door, and he wasn't sure if she heard him. As the door slammed shut behind her retreating back, he realized that it made little difference either way. Going home meant leaving everything and everyone at Hogwarts behind. It was a definitive ending, and only the first of what would be many goodbyes to come.

Harry, for his part, had to leave most of his goodbyes unsaid. They had left Daniyel's Muggle London behind so abruptly that he had not had a chance to say a word to Daniyel's parents, to Carlos, to _Binka_ ; and there was nothing he could have said, even given the opportunity. No one in Muggle London, save for Ella and Robert, had even known that he had been there at all. Even so, saying goodbye to Robert and Ella was difficult enough that it threatened to completely destroy any of the composure he had regained after their final meeting with Voldemort.

Too soon, their idle days of sitting around the hospital wing dwindled to an end.

On the following Tuesday afternoon, Harry and Ella trailed behind the others as Dumbledore led the six of them out onto the deserted grounds. She had slipped her fingers through his as they stepped outside the front doors, and Harry gripped her hand tightly now as they made their slow progress toward the lake. As he glanced at Ella, walking along silently beside him, he did not allow himself to think about the days without her to come, but instead attempted to memorize every last detail of her smile.

Dumbledore drew to a halt as they reached the edge of the lake and turned to face them, looking at them all seriously.

"It is time," he said. "I trust you have all said your goodbyes?"

They had. But at Dumbledore's words, they turned to each other once more, their eyes growing misty, as they all hugged in turn. Hermione threw her arms around Daniyel tightly, tears trailing freely down her face, as she whispered, "Take care of yourself, all right?" and Robert turned to Harry and briefly grasped his shoulder, before pulling him into a hug, which Harry returned with a pang of sadness. Ron grasped Daniyel's hand after Hermione released him, and they both grinned at each other, as if locking away the memories of everything they had shared. And then, as Robert stepped forward to hug Hermione, Harry turned and found himself face to face with Ella.

Without speaking, she reached forward and embraced him, brushing her head against his shoulder before she briefly placed her lips on his. He closed his eyes, the world momentarily still, as he held her and tried to cement the moment in his memory. For a fleeting second, he wished they could simply stay this way forever; that nothing else would be lost; would change. But, too soon, she released him with a whispered, "Goodbye," and stepped back, giving him a sad but resolved smile. He watched her as she walked away, briefly embracing both Ron and Hermione at once on her way to Dumbledore, and Harry turned, at last, to Daniyel, who was left standing alone beside him.

"We did all right, didn't we?" Daniyel said quietly, looking wistfully back at Hogwarts.

"I reckon so," Harry agreed, doing his best to focus on the here and now. "Thank you, Daniyel. For everything."

"I should be thanking you, really." Daniyel shrugged. "For Hogwarts. It was… amazing, despite everything that went down. I'll miss it more than I can say."

Harry smiled sadly and nodded. "I know the feeling."

They clasped hands briefly, and Harry looked into the face of his twin, his other self, so alike and yet so different. It was like gazing into a distorted mirror. Daniyel drew in a sharp breath, smiled at Harry one last time, and then walked toward Dumbledore, Ella, and Robert. Harry lowered his hand and watched mutely as Hermione and Ron came up to stand beside him. He would miss them all more than he could say, but, as Ella had so wisely stated, a little time was better than none, and he had known them all — and that was enough.

Dumbledore, who had waited patiently as they exchanged their final goodbyes, now turned to them all with a kind smile.

"Thank you again," he said, "for everything you have done for us. The wizarding world will always be in your debt. There is just one more thing, before I send you back." As they looked on curiously, he reached into his robes and withdrew a long, thin box, which he handed to Ella. "This is for you, Miss Foster."

"What is it?" Ella said, though she thought, as her hands closed around the thin box, that she already knew. She unwrapped it to reveal a long, golden wand lying on the velvet lining within.

"Ollivander created this for you at my request," Dumbledore said kindly as she stared at the wand with wonder. "It is pear, twelve and three quarter inches, with a core of dragon heartstring. Reasonably flexible. Much like you are, it is warm-hearted, generous, and resilient. And rather quick to learn."

Ella drew in a tentative breath and reached inside the box. The second her hand closed around the golden wood, warmth flooded through her fingers. The feeling was nothing like holding Harry's wand, or the wand she had briefly picked up at Shadow Hogwarts. She lifted it carefully, and a shower of gold sparks shot out of the end. And she knew, in that moment, that this wand was hers, and her alone, and any magic she cast with it would come as easily as breathing. She gripped it tightly and turned to Dumbledore.

"But I don't understand," she said slowly. "We're leaving. Why do I…"

"Just because you are going back home," Dumbledore said, "does not mean that your magic will disappear. It is part of you now, and you cannot simply lock it away inside and forget it. Suppressing magic will reward you with only a world of harm and nothing more. Both you and Daniyel"—he glanced between them seriously—"will need to be vigilant in using it responsibly and learning everything you can from the books you have been given, and from each other. I trust you will use it well."

Ella smiled and nodded. "I understand. Thank you, Professor. We will." She was struck then by a sudden thought. "Oh! Er — Professor Dumbledore, will we still be able to talk to — to Harry, or you, or Sirius, in case we have questions about magic, or…" She trailed off as Dumbledore looked at her gravely. The answer was apparent in his eyes, and she felt the hopeful bubble in her chest deflate.

"I am afraid without Harry as the link between our two worlds, it will not be possible to communicate again. Once you leave here, you will be on your own." They looked down, disheartened. "I do believe," Dumbledore concluded kindly, "that you will manage extraordinarily. You have, after all, faced much greater challenges. Once more, I am humbled by your strength."

They nodded again, and Ella thought that perhaps it was better this way — a clean break. She glanced briefly at Harry, and thought maybe she glimpsed the same sentiment reflected in his eyes.

"We will," she said again. It would be painful, she knew, but they would take that pain, and they would walk forward in spite of it, along with it, because there was nothing else that could be done. There was no other path forward. And she knew that, even though this moment and this time would change her, would perhaps come to define her, she would not trade it away. Not for anything.

"Very well," Dumbledore said kindly. "If you are ready?"

"We are," Daniyel said, his voice resolved. Robert nodded at his side. Ella slipped her new wand into her pocket and reached out and clasped both their hands as she took a deep, steadying breath. Her eyes met Harry's one last time as Dumbledore raised his wand, and a glowing light began to envelop them. A warm wind blew up around them, sweeping back her hair.

As their surroundings began to dissolve into white, Daniyel glanced once more at Harry, at Ron and Hermione, and at the fading traces of Hogwarts, outlined through the whitening haze — its towers standing tall. Unyielding. _Still safe._

He smiled as everything turned white.

When the mist cleared, they found themselves in a cramped trailer. Daniyel glanced around in confusion.

"Where are we?"

"The trailer from the Alfriston shoot," Robert said. It looked much as they had left it. The floor was strewn with spare props, bits of makeup, and loose papers. Ella let go of their hands, and they turned toward the door.

"What should we do?" she murmured. Her tone was rather sad, but she still looked about with curiosity. "We've been gone over a week. Do you suppose they think we've been kidnapped, or something?"

"Let's get out of here and see where we are, and we'll go from there," Robert suggested, taking the lead.

They turned to the door, but they had barely taken two steps toward it when someone rapped on it from outside. They froze, staring at each other, but before they had time to respond, the door opened, and Alex, the production assistant, stuck his head in.

"There you all are. We need you back for the wides now. Are you ready?"

"Er — yeah," Robert said, masking his surprise almost perfectly.

"Great, come on then," Alex said, and he disappeared from the doorway. Robert turned to follow him out, raising his eyebrows at Ella and Daniyel as he went.

"Woah," Ella said, turning to Daniyel, her eyes wide. "Dumbledore must've Narnia-ed us over."

"What?" Daniyel said, slightly confused. "Oh! You mean because we're back to when you all left from? Right, it's been a while since I've seen that…"

Ella's eyes flashed briefly with something he couldn't quite discern and she gave him a sad smile and then turned silently and followed Robert out of the trailer. Alone, Daniyel glanced around at the unfamiliar surroundings, unsure of how he felt. He took a deep breath and made his way toward the door, doing his best to put Hogwarts and everyone in it on a shelf somewhere deep in his mind and focus on… on figuring out whatever it was they were supposed to be shooting. Which, he decided, should be quite interesting, considering he remembered virtually nothing of the script, and Ella and Robert — unaware that they would be returning to this moment — had briefed him on this scene not at all.

As he walked, lost in thought, he stumbled over something on the floor. He glanced down to see what had tripped him. It was small, nearly flat, and oval-shaped, and with a jolt, he realized that it was the projector disc Harry had lost en-route to Shadow Hogwarts. He picked it up carefully, the smooth disc cool against his hand. For a moment, he was filled with an almost painful desire to reach out through it, just to see their faces and hear their voices one more time.

But it, much like the prop wand he had used to carry, was little more than a paperweight now — its power only a suggestion, and yet, one capable of evoking incredibly strong emotions; and that kind of magic was, in a way, just as powerful.

He slipped the disc inside his pocket, where it fell into place next to his wand — and that, at least, was still very much alive with magic. Then he stepped out into the night to bring to life a Hogwarts that, for everyone else in this world, was as real as it would ever get. He hoped he would do it justice.


	31. Home

**Chapter Thirty-One:**

_Home_

.

The time after they vanished, after they disappeared in a swirling white mist, passed largely in a daze for Harry. When he looked back on it, much like the previous summer, he could remember only scattered moments. One moment he could not forget, however, was sitting down, once again, in Professor Dumbledore's office, which seemed larger, somehow, without the additional presences of Ron and Hermione. Of Robert and Daniyel. Of Ella.

He stared stonily at Dumbledore, who gazed back at him from across the desk. There were things they had left unsaid, when they last met – things that had been swept under the rug as they sat there, content with the glow of their victory and with each other at their sides. But Ella, Daniyel, and Robert were gone now. And with the emptiness of their losses burning inside him like an ever-glowing candle, Harry knew that he could no longer avoid the questions that he had previously cast aside.

"I do know why you're here, Harry," Dumbledore said at last. "I was not sure if with your friends present, you wished to discuss in specifics the Union of Awakening. You do understand, I presume, what has happened?"

Harry nodded slowly, glancing down at his hands before addressing Dumbledore once more.

"He wanted to kill me and take my powers as well… but when Daniyel and I forced him to take my place, when the Union... finished him… did his magic, his power, come to me instead?"

"It did," Dumbledore said softly.

"All of Slytherin's power? Voldemort's power? I have that now?"

"You do, Harry."

Harry nodded once more, as if affirming something he already knew. "I flew," he said quietly. "When Daniyel fell off his broom, and I reached out to grab him, and my broom broke. I flew for just a second, before we hit the trees. That's why we didn't crash."

"Unaided flight is something Voldemort has enjoyed for quite a long time," Dumbledore said, looking at Harry seriously. "It cannot be said if this is a skill he developed on his own, or one passed down from Salazar Slytherin himself."

Harry looked down, shuddering slightly. He felt dirty. Vile. Contaminated. Even now, with Voldemort dead at last and the wizarding world in the midst of their greatest celebration, he felt like he would never be free of Voldemort.

"I felt… his anger," Harry said slowly, thinking back to the moment in the trees. "When the magic burst out. And when it drew into me. And at odd moments since. Voldemort's… or maybe Slytherin's, I dunno. But in that moment, I didn't feel like myself. Am I… am I going to lose myself, Professor? Am I just going to become like him? Like Voldemort?"

"It does not have to be a burden, Harry."

He glanced back up at Dumbledore, who was contemplating him over his half-moon spectacles. "What you have gained is not evil. It is simply magic," Dumbledore continued. "What you do with it is up to you. You have heard what Ariella Hufflepuff told Sara. Even Salazar Slytherin had good within him."

"Had," Harry said, his voice shaking. "But he lost himself, didn't he? The darkness took over him. And it will take over me too, won't it?"

"I don't believe that it will," Dumbledore said gently. "It is true that there is a dark power that has long been rooted in Slytherin's history. Salazar Slytherin himself succumbed to it, and so did Voldemort, as have many before him. And it is also true that this darkness, along with the powers of Slytherin, has been passed now to you. But that does not mean that you will fall before it. _Listen to me, Harry_ ," he added, for Harry had turned his face away at these words, emotion threatening to overwhelm him, and he forced himself to look back at Dumbledore, to keep his face straight, as his green eyes met Dumbledore's blue ones once more.

"You have so much good inside you," Dumbledore said with a kind smile. "You have all the strength of Gryffindor within you, Harry. You have courage, and love, and compassion. Yes, you have a little more darkness to carry now, but how can it possibly overpower all the light that makes up who you are? You _will_ overcome this, Harry. And Slytherin's power is not all bad. Think of Sara. Think of all the odds that she overcame, to make the greatest possible sacrifice. And what do you think made it possible, for you to be able to witness her story? Without Slytherin's powers to augment your own, do you think you would have been able to See so far back?"

Harry nodded silently. He thought he understood, even if just a little bit. He just wasn't sure how to accept it. If he _could_ accept it. He flashed briefly to Sara.

"I think she saw me," he said quietly, his voice rough. "At the very end. In the dream."

"I see," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps she was able to call out to you, to invite you to witness her journey, because she saw you in that moment, at the end."

"You mean, like when I cast the Patronus?" Harry said slowly. "To save Hermione, and Sirius, and… me?"

"Yes, like that."

"That's confusing," Harry mumbled.

Dumbledore smiled. "It often is."

"So I can see the past," Harry said, "not just the present."

"You can," Dumbledore said, nodding. "And at times, the future as well. And I suspect you will see it all clearer, now. If you so choose."

When he left Dumbledore's office, deep in thought about what he would have to do from that moment on, what he would have to live with, Dumbledore had called out to him softly as he reached the door.

"Harry."

Harry had glanced back, his hand on the door handle, to find Dumbledore looking at him hesitantly, his eyes quite opaque behind his spectacles.

"I'm so sorry. About Ella."

Harry drew in a shaky breath, nodded once because he didn't trust himself to speak, and slipped out of the office, leaving Dumbledore to gaze silently at the space he had just vacated, his expression rather sad.

He drifted through the castle in a daze, its familiar halls and classrooms suddenly alien and jarring. He had spent nearly six months dreaming of it, hoping to see it all again, but without Ella and Robert, he felt like something was constantly missing, even with Ron and Hermione back at his side. He had taken to avoiding crowds by shunning the crowded Great Hall and the Gryffindor common room, or arriving to classrooms early – anything to limit his interactions with others. He did not wish to hear their praises, or field off questions about Voldemort, or Daniyel, or Ella and Robert, or Sirius.

The time he did manage to spend with Sirius was bittersweet. April was drawing to a close, and O.W.L.s were very nearly upon them. Harry spent almost all his free time studying, trying to catch up on all the schoolwork he had missed while trapped in Muggle London. Even so, on the Saturday following their last day together, Harry and Sirius found themselves standing at the end of Privet Drive, which was bright and colorful in the dawning spring. They made their way up the street, Harry decidedly avoiding glancing at Number Four, until they reached the corner of Wisteria Walk and found themselves before Sara's green front door – her one personal touch of rebellion against the otherwise uninspired Muggle street.

Harry smiled softly to himself as he remembered Sara ignoring several polite and then not-so-polite requests from the Privet Drive Homeowner's Association to please paint her door a more appropriate color. She had seemed to rather enjoy glancing at them before throwing them haphazardly into her fireplace, where phrases like " _a nice brown_ " or " _a lovely shade of gray_ " or " _at the very least, if you like green so much, can you kindly at least make it a dark green, so that it can be barely discernible from black, (but it will still be green!)_ " had been briefly visible amongst the flames before they had burned to ashes.

Harry tapped his wand to the lock, whispering the few chosen words of her Locking Spell, and the door swung silently open before them. They stepped inside the empty foyer, cloaked painfully in familiarity, and before he had time to glance around, Sara's cats converged on them. Mr. Tibbles approached Harry cautiously, sniffing at him and Sirius both with some apprehension, with Mr. Paws and Tufty close behind, and Harry smiled and scratched softly at their ears; but as he fended them off, he kept his eyes peeled for Snowy, who he finally spotted glaring down at them from the coat rack.

"Snowy!" he called softly, and the cat crept cautiously forward and jumped down, landing gracefully before them. Harry grinned and scratched his head. Sirius stared at him curiously, tilting his head slightly. Snowy gazed back at Sirius, his green eyes unblinking.

"Holy shit," Sirius said. "Horace!"

Snowy purred. Harry looked between the cat and his godfather, who looked back at him, bewildered.

"Is this… was this…?" Sirius said.

"Our old cat, yeah," Harry said, nodding. "Sara rescued him from my parents' place that night. Right before you came… _Horace_?"

Sirius smiled nostalgically as Snowy rubbed against his legs, and reached down to pet him.

"You nearly killed him once, you know," he said, reminiscing. "I sent you a little toy broomstick for your first birthday, and Lily sent me a letter complaining how you almost hit the cat. He's part kneazle, did you know?"

Harry nodded, a small smile on his face, as he petted Snowy – or Horace – absently. The cat abandoned Sirius and turned to Harry, purring loudly. The other cats crowded around them still.

"Horace was Lily's favorite teacher," Sirius said. "Potions. She reckoned it was sweet to name the cat after him. James always thought it was bloody hilarious. Especially when he had to clean the litterbox." He smiled wider and imitated James. "Lily! Horace has taken a dump again!"

Harry laughed, and they stood up and made their way further into the house, the cats trailing after them. One look around confirmed that someone had been by to feed them. Dumbledore perhaps. Harry was glad that Sara's cats had been cared for – had not become a casualty of this war.

"You want to take them all?" Sirius asked, as they walked through the empty house. Dust was beginning to gather on some of the surfaces. Harry nodded silently, still looking around at the last place Sara had called home.

"I was thinking," Sirius said, and Harry turned to look at him, pausing in his examination of the house, "it's a fresh start for us, Harry. I have a place, my old family home, but I don't reckon you'd like it much. Hell, I don't like it much. Actually, it's a depressing shithole. I was thinking we could get a flat somewhere new. Maybe Hogsmeade, or Diagon Alley, or London? Wherever you'd like."

Harry smiled. Despite everything, at least he had the summer with Sirius to look forward to – a summer he would spend, for the first time, away from Privet Drive. And every summer after that. _He was never going back_. It was almost enough to forget everything else. At least for a moment.

"London sounds good," he said. "Maybe the Muggle side?"

"Somewhere no one will recognize us, you mean?" Sirius grinned. "Sounds good to me too."

Before they left Sara's house for the last time (Mr. Tibbles, Mr. Paws, Tufty, and Snowy in hand) and headed back to Hogwarts, Harry slipped inside Sara's bedroom and carefully collected the old photograph from her nightstand. Ariella, Helena, Bria, and Sara smiled up at him from the worn paper, which was slightly bent and yellowed with age. Sara's eyes twinkled with delight, frozen forever in a moment, over a thousand years ago, in which she knew nothing of her future, or the path that lay ahead. He gripped the photograph tightly as he left the house.

Once outside, Sirius grasped his shoulder briefly, and then they made their way down the street, avoiding, once again, the curtained windows of Number Four. When they reached the quiet alley at the end of the road, Sirius took hold of his arm, turned on the spot, and they Disapparated back to Hogsmeade, cats and all.

It would take Harry several days to recover from their angry scratches.

He didn't have much time to spare for Sirius in the coming weeks as he threw himself deeper and deeper into his studies. He, Ron, and Hermione spent lunchtimes, break times, and evenings in the library, often staying late into the night, as they (mostly Hermione) did their best to get him caught up on Transfiguration, on Charms, on Potions – which Snape had returned to teaching, with no less amount of contempt.

But even after the painfully long days, when he finally collapsed, exhausted, into his bed (where Snowy was already sprawled out comfortably), his mind remained wide awake, burning with thoughts of Ella, of the final battle with Voldemort, of the angry, dark magic coursing through him. And he lay awake night after night, until the early morning hours when he finally dropped off into a restless sleep, which was punctuated not by dreams, but nightmares.

It became harder to sit and study with Ron and Hermione – to look at Hermione and not see flashes of Ella in her face – and it became harder still when he noted, despite their best efforts to hide it, the growing feelings between them. By mid May, when he could no longer pretend not to notice that Ron and Hermione had brushed their hands together six times in one day, and that it could not possibly be accidental even if they didn't realize it themselves, he began to make excuses to abandon their joint study sessions, and found himself escaping from the library more and more frequently, leaving a disappointed Ron and Hermione in his wake.

It wasn't that he wasn't happy for them, Harry reasoned, as he made his way to the Owlery for the third evening that week. He was – incredibly so. And it wasn't even that he was jealous. It was simply that it was painful, to see them together. Every time he glimpsed a shared moment between them, it was a reminder of what he could never have, that Ella was gone; and the only way he could lessen those feelings was simply to remove himself from the situation. But as Ron and Hermione drifted closer, and he spent more time in the Owlery, or out on the secluded grounds, he found that he often felt more alone than he had even in Muggle London.

He pushed open the Owlery door and saw Ginny standing by the window, feeding treats to Pigwidgeon. She nodded at him, and he returned the greeting, looking around for Hedwig. He had found Ginny around the castle frequently as of late, and often alone. He suspected that perhaps she was struggling with something similar to what he was going through. When they had run into each other in the Owlery for the first time, a couple weeks past, Ginny had hung around, watching as he stroked Hedwig who had alighted on his shoulder and refused to move.

"Daniyel spent loads of time with her, you know," she had said quietly, as Hedwig nipped affectionately at his fingers. "I ran into him here a lot."

Harry turned to her, looking on curiously as she said, with an air of nostalgic reminiscence, "He really went out of his way to hang out with me, the last few months. I think, maybe, he did it for you. He must've done."

Harry nodded, not quite sure what to say, and Ginny bit her lip and fell silent. But he could have sworn, as she made her way toward the door, that she had mumbled, "I think he did it too well…"

But despite that somewhat painful first conversation, and despite Ginny's unrelenting silence with Ron and Hermione, Harry had run into her many times since, and she did not shut him out in the way she did her best friend and her brother. Perhaps it was simply that they had both lost someone they cared deeply about, but talking to her was oddly comforting, and as they spent time discussing Muggle London, and wondering what Ella, Daniyel, and Robert were doing now, and whether they had finished shooting the movie yet, Harry realized that Ginny had finally become a friend. _Not more, of course._ Not Ella. But at the very least, someone he could talk to. And that, he thought, was probably what Daniyel had wanted all along.

June fell upon them at last, bringing the O.W.L.s with it, and Harry sat through exam after exam, forcing his mind to expel every bit of knowledge it had acquired over the past five years. He thought, or at least hoped, that he did passably well. He didn't have much trouble with Defense Against the Dark Arts, or Charms, and thought he had done all right in Transfiguration and Herbology. History of Magic was incredibly confusing, and as he couldn't remember any of the names or dates of the Goblin rebellions Binns had droned on about over the years, he reckoned he couldn't have possibly done worse, even if he had slept through the entire exam. He struggled with Potions, but had hopefully earned a passing grade. Most curiously, he rather surprised himself with Divination, where, without the looming presence of Professor Trelawney, he was able to gaze into the crystal ball and See, within its swirling depths, the proceedings of a courtroom as several Death Eaters were brought in to trial, almost as clearly as he had seen them in Dumbledore's Pensieve just a year past.

"You saw _what_?" Ron had said incredulously, shaking his head in amusement before launching into a description of how he had, most definitely, failed his own Divination exam.

And then, before they knew it, June was over, and another year at Hogwarts had drawn to a close. Harry found himself shuttled onto the Hogwarts Express, where Hedwig and Pigwidgeon hooted loudly at each other through the bars of their cages, and Crookshanks and Snowy (who he had decided not to rename) were dozing in an empty seat. Ron and Hermione were sitting beside him, grinning that their exams were finally over, and even Harry couldn't help but smile. When they reached platform nine and three-quarters at last, and Harry saw Sirius waiting for him instead of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, he felt like something in his world had righted at last.

He loved the flat in Notting Hill from the moment he first stepped inside it. Sirius had sent some photographs via Hedwig when he found it in early May, but they had not conveyed its openness, or the warmth the sun cast about it as it streamed in through the many large windows. And the bare photos had entirely omitted Sirius's sense of style. The flat was now full of comfortable looking furniture, and decorated with subtle hints of scarlet and gold, giving Harry the impression of having stepped inside an extension of the Gryffindor common room. He wandered through it, gazing wide-eyed at the small kitchen with its bright cherry cabinets topped with white countertops, and a small wooden table tucked in the corner; and at the bright sitting room, filled with a large cozy couch and several squashy chairs, which were presently occupied by three napping cats. One wall was covered with a small bookcase, which was half filled with books. There was an old movie projector set on a small table, and he could see the edges of a rolled up projector screen hanging on the opposite wall.

Sirius trailed behind him silently as Harry lowered Snowy to the floor and stepped further into the flat, pausing at last at the door to his new bedroom. It was not a large room but it was cozy, and Sirius had filled it with a comfortable looking bed, a writing desk, a small dresser, and a stand for Hedwig's cage in the corner. There was a Gryffindor banner hanging on one wall, fluttering slightly as if moved by a nonexistent breeze, and Sirius had dug up and placed several photos of Harry's parents on various surfaces around the room. The rest of the walls were empty, their blank canvas an invitation. Harry turned back to Sirius, who looked slightly apprehensive.

"I hope it's all right?" he said hesitantly. "I wanted to have some furniture for when you got here, but if you don't like it, we can definitely switch it out. And if–"

"It's brilliant," Harry said, grinning. "I love it. Thanks, Sirius!"

Sirius looked incredibly relieved. "Just so you know," he said, "I've never been responsible for another human before, so bear with me, OK? Also, I should probably warn you now that if you think my cooking's terrible and refuse to eat it, you'll starve. So too bad."

Harry laughed. "Can't be worse than eating carrot sticks all summer. We can eat cake all the time, if you like. I don't mind."

"Cake? No, no, that can't be the kind of thing a responsible godfather feeds his godson for every meal."

"Since when are you a responsible godfather?" Harry grinned.

Sirius laughed. "Since today," he said lightly. "You don't come with instructions, do you?"

And so began Harry's first summer of living with Sirius.

It was good. It was amazing, actually. But even so, he struggled. Partly because now that Hogwarts was out for the summer and his presence was constantly requested at the Ministry to provide testimony for the continuing trials of various Death Eaters, he could not leave the battle at Shadow Hogwarts behind. As all his waking hours were no longer occupied by studying, he fell to brooding about it more frequently, until he was waking up gasping nearly every night, Voldemort's murderous red eyes burned into his retinas like an afterimage.

Sirius had darted into his room, wand raised as if prepared to fight off an intruder, the first time it happened, and Harry, entirely mortified, had made some half-hearted attempts at gesturing wildly at Snowy, as if the cat had attacked him in his bed. Snowy had given Harry a rather condescending glare before casually sauntering off, and Sirius had taken one look at his sweaty face and altogether disheveled appearance and briefly disappeared, reappearing with a vial of potion and his best attempts at godfatherly comfort, which Harry appreciated despite his reluctance to admit it.

"It gets better," Sirius said roughly, holding out the potion. "I had dreams too, after Azkaban."

"Did they go away?" Harry mumbled, glancing at Sirius, who grimaced slightly in the near darkness.

"Some. They're less frequent now. They'll fade... I'm sorry, Harry."

Sirius had hugged him briefly and then watched as Harry gulped down the potion before leaving him to a few hours of blissfully dreamless sleep.

But the nightmares continued; and since Sirius wasn't willing to let Harry develop a potion habit, he took his frustration out on the Ministry instead. After Harry had been forced to come to city center twice in one week, Sirius had angrily exploded on Amelia Bones, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and demanded her department stop dragging Harry down to testify at every single trial. Amelia had looked rather affronted, but agreed to minimize using Harry, who, slightly embarrassed, had appreciated it all the same.

Yet even without the trials, the scenes of Shadow Hogwarts stayed ever presently in his mind, and aside from those recollections, he was still plagued by sadness over losing Ella, and the anger that had passed to him from Voldemort through the Union, and he struggled constantly to put it aside. No matter how many pleasantly spent hours he put between the dark nights, once he found himself alone in bed, his mind was consumed by endless thoughts, until they eventually seeped out into the light of day as well, and he became quieter and quicker to snap, both with Sirius, and with Ron and Hermione when they came to visit. It got progressively worse, until Sirius finally half-heartedly suggested that maybe Harry should go see someone, as if he wasn't too keen on the idea himself, but thought he ought to mention it.

"Like a _therapist_?" Harry said, bewildered.

"Like an Abstract Healer," Sirius said evenly. "Maybe it would help you to talk about it."

"I dunno…" Harry muttered, stalling. "We've talked about it..."

"Sure," Sirius agreed, "but I don't know what I'm doing here, Harry. And Abstract Healers are specially trained for this. Your mum went and talked to one, after her mum and dad died. Your grandparents. It helped her cope."

"Well then maybe _you_ should go," Harry suggested. "Go on, then. You can talk about Azkaban."

"Maybe I will," Sirius volunteered, "if you do."

"Fine," Harry said, folding his arms and glowering at his godfather, who glowered right back.

And so they went, to an outpatient facility of St. Mungo's, where Sirius went off with Healer Wilson, and left Harry to sit on a couch across from Healer Lawrence, a kind-looking, dark-haired wizard in his mid-thirties, who started the session by smiling encouragingly at Harry and saying, "We probably won't get to the meat of it today, I'm afraid, but let's give it a go, shall we? Have you ever done this before, Harry?"

Harry shook his head silently, and Healer Lawrence, still smiling, said, "First time? Don't worry. It's only about as terrifying as putting on the Sorting Hat. So fairly terrifying, but then it improves."

"Right," Harry said nervously. "Just a bit."

"Just a bit," Healer Lawrence agreed. "But then you put it on, and suddenly you're sorted into Hufflepuff – or in your case Gryffindor – and then you forget why you were even worried about the Hat at all. So, do you want to talk about why you're here?"

And Harry thought then about the images of Voldemort's body he saw every time he closed his eyes, and the hot guilt he still felt about what he had done; how he just could not come to terms with killing someone, even Voldemort, and how it made it all the worse that the whole wizarding world was hailing him as a hero for it. He thought of the strength of the magic coursing through him, the anger, the darkness – and his constant fears that he would succumb to it, that he would lose himself. _Was he still the same person?_ Was he even someone worth loving anymore? And what did it matter, if he was, because Ella was gone. And Robert was gone. And Daniyel was gone. And maybe it was for the best anyway, because he was a mess and couldn't figure out how to pull himself back together. But he couldn't say these things, because who could possibly admit them? And maybe this whole thing had just been a mistake. What did Sirius expect of him, after all? So he simply said, "Would you believe me if I said it was because my godfather made me?"

And Healer Lawrence said, "Sure, I'd believe that's why you came. But I don't imagine you'd hang around if there wasn't something you wanted to say."

And he found, not that day, but several weeks on, that there _was_ something he wanted to say. And that once he _did_ say it, once he let out all those things that he'd been hiding away inside, they didn't weigh nearly as much anymore. And it was easier, then, to believe that maybe he wasn't an altogether terrible person. That he wasn't a murderer, or would suddenly turn evil overnight. That good things could still happen. And that, even after everything, it was okay… to be happy.

Sirius was incredibly relieved when Harry finally stopped having the nightmares, and by the time September came around and it was time to head back to Hogwarts, Harry felt like he was actually ready for it. He was a N.E.W.T. student now, after all, and there were things he wanted to achieve. He (and Ron) had somehow managed to collect enough O.W.L.s to take the necessary classes required for eventual entry to the Auror Academy at the Ministry, assuming they got enough N.E.W.T.s to qualify, and when he hugged Sirius goodbye on platform nine and three-quarters on the first of September, and hopped on the Hogwarts Express with Ron and Hermione, it was with at least most of his usual happiness for the start of a new year.

His sixth year at Hogwarts was, for the first time, uneventful; through it was broken up by Christmas spent with Sirius. It was the first time Harry had spent the holidays with family that he could remember, or at least family that cared enough to make it special. Sirius, who also had a lot of terrible Christmases to make up for, had went all out, and when Harry stepped into the flat on Saturday night, for a second he thought he'd walked into a Christmas Card.

Sirius had put up a gigantic tree, which seemed like it should have been too big to fit in the sitting room, but somehow (magically) it wasn't. It was bedecked with glass ornaments of all colors, shapes, and sizes, and glowed with multi-colored twinkling lights, and there was a large pile of presents underneath it. There were seven stockings hanging on a string across the back wall of the sitting room, one for Harry, one for Sirius, one for Hedwig, and one for each of the cats, which Sirius had stuffed with Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and cat and owl treats in turn. The walls of the flat were also glowing with little balls of multi-colored lights, giving the whole space a rather festive feel. The windows were covered in frost and, also, _it was snowing_.

The snow wasn't cold or wet, and disappeared as it hit the floor, and it made Harry smile in delight as he walked into the sitting room and spun around, taking in everything.

Later, as they sat on the couch drinking warm Butterbeer, Sirius confided in Harry that he had "got one of those job things, so I don't get too bored while you're gone."

"What kind of job?" Harry asked curiously, trying to picture Sirius sitting at a desk at the Ministry. It was rather hard to imagine. Especially after Sirius had yelled at Amelia Bones and all.

"Oh, just doing some bartending," Sirius said brightly. "At the pub down the street."

"Are you really?" Harry said, surprised.

"Oh sure. It's great. All the tourists come down, and they just adore my long hair…" Sirius winked at Harry, who laughed. At least Sirius was having fun, and that's all Harry could ever want for his godfather.

That summer they left the cats and Hedwig with the Weasleys for four weeks, and went backpacking around Europe. They ate everything under the sun in Barcelona while exploring the works of Gaudi; walked for miles on the streets of Paris before getting lost in the Louvre; debated the benefits of living on a houseboat in Amsterdam, and whether it would be more or less comfortable than living in a canal house; and endlessly rode trains (because Sirius insisted it was much more fun than Apparating) up and down the entire length of Italy, where they ate copious amounts of gelato in Florence and hiked from Vernazza to Monterosso al Mare in Cinque Terre, where Harry laid eyes on a beach for the first time.

Then it was back home for his seventeenth birthday, which they celebrated with the Weasleys, Hermione, and Lupin and Tonks who were now engaged and so bursting with happiness that it was infectious. Sirius took him to the Apparition Test Centre at the Ministry the following morning, and when Harry walked out a couple hours later, grinning and holding out his shiny new Apparition license, Sirius had insisted that they celebrate (again) and dragged Harry over to the Leaky Cauldron, where, after several hours of celebrating with Tom's best Firewhiskey, he was really glad he had, in fact, gotten his Apparition license, because he had to Apparate Sirius home.

"I'm really proud of you," Sirius told him, grinning widely, his eyes slightly glassy from the Firewhiskey. "And James and Lily would be so proud too. Look at you, Harry, you're a real adult now!"

And he said just the same thing a year later, as he reached over to hug Harry after he, Ron, and Hermione met Sirius, Arthur, Molly, and Hermione's parents after they walked off the makeshift stage at graduation, clutching their diplomas. "I'm so proud of you."

Harry had grinned brightly and, after Sirius released him, the three of them turned back and looked nostalgically at Hogwarts, Hermione's eyes welling with tears as she gripped at the ends of her Head Girl honor stole.

It was odd to look back at the castle and realize it would no longer be a permanent fixture in his life. But he would see it again, after all – at Ginny's graduation next year, at the very least. And even if he didn't see it much, it would always be his first real home. And the important thing was that it was still there. Still standing. Still Hogwarts. Unyielding, through over a thousand years of history. And he knew and accepted now, that what he had done was part of the reason that Hogwarts was still safe.

Harry and Ron, who had both been accepted to the Auror qualifying program shortly before graduation, started at the Auror Academy on the third Monday in July, where they spent the summer term successfully completing the character and aptitude tests required to start full Auror training in the fall. Once full training began, it was so demanding and time-consuming, Harry barely had time to sleep or think about anything other than his studies, and Ron barely had time to see Hermione, who was doing an internship at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which Harry thought was a shame, since they had finally started dating at the end of the previous year (following an exciting broom ride where Ron had wooed her, as told by Ron, though Hermione had a rather different story). All he felt for them now was happiness; though it was also true he still missed Ella and thought about her often. But it was also true that he had finally come to terms with what he had done at Shadow Hogwarts, and had accepted that losing Ella was the price he'd had to pay for the happiness of the wizarding world.

By March of the following year, Harry and Ron had finally fallen into the swing of things at the Academy. On a particularly sunny Saturday, when winter felt like it was withdrawing its claws at last, Ron and Hermione met Harry at the flat, where Sirius treated them all to an entirely edible breakfast that Harry didn't help with in the slightest (Harry had made a point of giving Sirius various cookbooks for Christmas over the years – which Sirius always found amusing). Afterwards, they Apparated to Hogsmeade, where they spent the morning walking around the shops, until they saw the incoming queue of Hogwarts students streaming into the village, Ginny's red hair clearly visible among them.

"Hey," she said brightly, stopping before them as they waited outside Honeydukes. "What are you three doing here?"

"Can't a big brother visit his little sister?" Ron grinned. "Heard you had a Hogsmeade weekend."

"Sure, a nice big brother can. You I have doubts about."

"The thanks I get," Ron said, turning to Harry and Hermione in mock offense.

"We just missed you, Ginny! Honest!" Hermione said.

"Yeah, how's Hogwarts treating you?" Harry asked.

"It's all right, studying for my N.E.W.T.s, you know. Barely have time for Quidditch. I keep telling McGonagall all I wanna do is fly a broom, but she keeps insisting I sit the exams… How's the Academy?"

Ron made a face. "Agh. Don't ask."

"That bad, eh, bro? Is it true, Harry?"

"It's true," Harry confirmed, while Ron shook his head in exasperation at his side. "It's just terrible."

"Terrible," Ron echoed.

"Oh, don't listen to them," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "They love it."

"I can do such an epic Concealment Spell now, I could hide you and you wouldn't be able to find yourself for thirty minutes," Harry volunteered.

Hermione rolled her eyes again, probably implying that she could do the same spell, and Ginny would be entirely invisible for at least an hour, and she hadn't even gone to the Academy, but she refrained from saying anything.

"Cool," Ginny said. "So, do you guys fancy some Butterbeers?"

"Sure," Ron said. "And some cream puffs, and – actually, let's just get lunch…"

They turned and headed toward the Three Broomsticks, walking past the tall wings in the center of the village square. Harry paused, glancing at them.

It had only been three Halloweens ago, that Ron and Daniyel had fought off Travers on this very street. True to his wish, every Halloween since had been light and uneventful. Last year, he and Sirius had even went on a Halloween pub crawl in London, both dressed like wizards in true Robert and Ella fashion, laughing hysterically when anyone had asked them who they were supposed to be ("This wizard named Harry Potter and his murderous godfather!" "Who the bloody hell are they, mate?" "Haven't heard of them.").

But even so… and even though he hadn't been here, hadn't known them, his heart clenched painfully for the fifteen who had been lost here. Eight children.

 _That's what it was all for_ , Harry told himself stoically. All the sacrifices. Everything. So that it would never happen again. _Not ever._ And that was worth everything, even if he would never see her again.

"Harry?"

He glanced around. Hermione had doubled back and was standing beside him. Ron and Ginny stood just off to the side, both gazing at the memorial as well.

"Sorry," he said, his voice slightly rough. "Just thinking about all the good we can do. When we're Aurors."

Ron smiled. "You bet we will."

Hermione draped one arm around him in a half hug and Ron and Ginny came to stand beside them. Ron leaned his head against Hermione's shoulder, and briefly squeezed Ginny's hand. Harry felt incredibly lucky to have them all. He glanced up at the tips of the wings, tall above them. They seemed to disappear into the clouds. Just then, something slightly cold and soft hit his nose. He squinted up at the sky, which was still sunny, and saw, in surprise, white flakes drifting down onto the wings.

It was snowing.

It was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just posted a little one-shot yesterday called [What's in a Name](https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/18067118), and it's actually a lost moment from this chapter of TP, in which Ron and Hermione finally get together! You can read about some of the details of that broomstick ride, and what actually happened to make them admit their adorable feelings. :)


	32. Home Again

**Chapter Thirty-Two:**

_Home Again_

.

He opened the door of his house slowly and stepped into the foyer, looking around at the bright open space. It looked just the same.

He barely had time to close the door when he heard frenzied barking, and Binka practically flew down the stairs and attacked him with all the innocent excitement only a dug can muster up. Daniyel laughed and bent down to pet her. She jumped at his chest, whining, and he picked her and let her lick his face.

"Hey, honey, welcome home. Long night?"

He glanced over. His mum was standing by the entrance to the kitchen, smiling. She was dressed in her work blazer and looked like she was halfway through applying mascara. She was still holding the brush in one hand. It hit him all at once as soon as he saw her face… just how much he had missed her.

"Mum…"

He lowered Binka gently to the floor and then stepped over and hugged her tightly, holding on for much too long. She wrapped her arms around him.

"What's wrong?" she said softly. "Did something happen?"

He drew back, smiling. "Just happy to see you, Mum." He really, truly was.

"Well I won't pretend I'm not enjoying this unusual display of affection then," she said, relaxing. "Affection from your teenage son is so hard to come by these days."

"Well, in that case…" He paused. " _I love you, Mum_." His voice cracked slightly with emotion.

"I love you too," she said, smiling. "Now take your shoes off and go get some sleep. You must be exhausted. There's breakfast in the kitchen, if you want."

Daniyel grinned, shrugged out of his shoes, and walked over to the kitchen with Binka on his heels. After inhaling some eggs and bacon and waving goodbye to his mum as she left for work, still contemplating him curiously, he made his way slowly upstairs and glanced around his room.

It looked mostly unchanged. It was not unusually messy or impeccably spotless. There were script pages strewn across his desk, in much the same way he was prone to leaving them. And yet everywhere he looked, from the magical textbooks stuffed into a corner of the bookcase, to his Playstation controller, casually abandoned on the bedside table, he could see traces of Harry. Harry had been a guest in this room, a stranger, for nearly six long months, and yet the room was ready and waiting for him to return, exactly as he'd left it, and for a second, Daniyel felt like the visitor.

He let out a measured breath and stepped slowly over the threshold, running his fingers along the wall, as if to reassure himself that the room was real. He walked over to the bookshelf, still letting his fingers wander, trailing them over the spines of the six Harry Potter books halfway along the fifth shelf. It was a story unfinished. A story he didn't really know anymore.

He flopped onto on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Binka jumped up beside him, panting happily, her face turned up into a doggy grin. She put her chin on his shoulder.

He was really back. Home again.

With a restless sigh, Daniyel sat back up, displacing Binka, and walked over to the bookcase again. He extracted one of the magical textbooks from the shelf, sat back on the bed, and drew it open. He might have left Hogwarts, but he didn't think he could bear it if it left him too. He flipped through the book, his eyes darting back and forth across the pages until he finally fell asleep.

He found it wasn't as hard to fall back into the motions of his life as he had imagined. They finished shooting in Alfriston at the end of the week and moved back to the studio, and by the time another exceedingly long week had gone by, the studio had become so familiar, it almost felt like he had never left. If it wasn't for the constant reminder of his wand – humming with magic – that he carried around like a talisman, he might have started to believe that it had all been a dream.

And it was easier, sometimes, to pretend that it had. If it wasn't real, he couldn't miss the Great Hall of Hogwarts, with its long wooden tables, constantly laden with dishes upon dishes of food, and the floating, ever-glowing candles; or its bustling classrooms and corridors and staircases, filled with magic and laughter; or more importantly, the people in it… _not nearly as much as he did._ And if it wasn't real, if the _people_ in it weren't real – were only two-dimensional – then he didn't have to feel anything about losing them, about helping Harry finish Voldemort. He didn't have to relive the horror, when his icy spears had ripped through Voldemort's torso as if it were made of paper.

He didn't have to live with it, if it wasn't real.

But he could hardly forget it. Just like, he knew, Ella couldn't either. Just like he couldn't ignore the haunted look that came into her eyes whenever she stopped running, stopped doing and, for just a moment, sat still.

They finished shooting _Phoenix_ in early December, and were granted a few weeks of respite before they were dragged to never-ending promotional events and then, later, to premieres around the world. They flew from Tokyo to Sydney to Los Angeles, shuttled from busy theatres to hotel rooms, where they waved to fans and smiled until their faces hurt, posed for countless photographs, and signed everything from books to wands, to other peculiar items (though Ella drew a strong line at signing the back of someone's dog, and then spent several hours questioning whether she should contact an animal rescue as she squinted around the dark theatre with slightly narrowed eyes).

At the end of July, in the short stretch of time after the premieres were over at last and before rehearsals for _Half-Blood Prince_ began, Daniyel, Robert, and Ella spent a warm and sunny Thursday perfecting their magical disguises in Daniyel's bedroom before they stole out of the house in the early evening hours and made their way to Waterstones, where they joined a queue of excited fans as they waited, at last, for the final installment of Harry's story. The excitement was infectious, and before they knew it, all three of them were grinning widely as they collected their own copies of _Deathly Hallows_ from an excited shop assistant dressed like McGonagall.

They locked themselves in Daniyel's room and read late into the night, the silence stretching on for hours and broken only by the rustling of paper as pages were turned, or the occasional creak of the bed as they re-adjusted their positions, or shocked gasps here and there, until the early morning sun streamed harshly through the blinds as they squinted at the painfully bright pages with exhausted eyes.

Robert put the book down first, around midday, with Ella and Daniyel joining him by early afternoon, and they all stared at each other, their expressions slightly shell shocked.

"It's good," Robert said finally, nodding at them both. "Amazing, really."

"But it's… different," Ella said quietly. "It's…"

She paused, trailing off, her expression rather arrested.

"He's not dead," Daniyel said, feeling out what was perhaps the root of her hesitation. "He's all right, Ells. And this story… this is not… it's not, you know, _your_ Harry. It's not the same story… _or the same world._ "

She nodded silently.

"Did he know?" Daniyel asked. "About the Horcruxes?"

"No, I don't think so." She shook her head. "Did Dumbledore?"

"I dunno," Daniyel said. "Maybe he did, and they didn't matter. Or maybe they didn't exist at all."

"He's really dead, isn't he?" Ella said softly, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Voldemort?"

Daniyel felt suddenly cold despite the summer heat. He thought of the icy spears. The pooling blood. The broken body upon the stone table. He shuddered.

"He's dead," he said, with a tone of finality. Ella didn't bring it up again.

"Maybe there's another world," Robert ventured into the ensuing silence, "where the story plays out just like this. Where the Horcruxes exist."

"Where Harry walked into the forest, willing to be a sacrifice, you mean?" Ella said quietly.

Robert nodded. "The Dumbledore you knew…" he said to Daniyel, "would he have done it? Sent Harry to the forest?"

"Yeah," Daniyel muttered. There was no doubt in his mind. Dumbledore would have sent him or Harry anywhere, if it meant the end of Voldemort. He had done nearly as much.

"But do you think," Ella said softly, "that there _is_ a world where Sirius, and Dumbledore, and Lupin, and Tonks, and Fred, and Dobby, _and Hedwig_ are all gone?"

"Don't forget Snape," Robert said lightly. "He was a good guy after all… don't look so disappointed! And then there's that part where I was kind of a prat."

Daniyel smiled slightly, pushing the scenario Ella had painted aside. "Nah, mate, you're all right. And Ron's all right, too. And Snape, I guess... But he's still kind of an arse."

Robert grinned. "Don't worry, you two. Maybe this is real somewhere, or maybe it isn't, but this is a story. Don't forget, Dan, the Sirius you know _is_ alive... _And Harry's off living with him, Ella_. There's not going to be a Department of Mysteries, or a Battle of Hogwarts… it's over."

"You're right," Ella said. "You're totally right, Rob. Everything's fine. _I'm fine._ " She stood up, stretched, and straightened her wrinkled clothes. "We should get some food. I'm starving."

"Of course!" Daniyel said, jumping to his feet and brushing past her to reach the door. "Let me see what's in the fridge."

"Cottage pie?" Ella said hopefully, as they trailed down the stairs. Daniyel shrugged.

"Coffee?" Robert added.

"For sure."

"Do you think he'll fall in love with her?" Ella said, as they stepped into the kitchen. "Ginny?"

Daniyel glanced back at her, his stomach twisting slightly. "I dunno…"

He had done everything he could to make it happen. But in the end… in the end… He sighed. Ella nodded, her eyes glistening for just a moment.

"I hope so," she said, her voice strong, firm. He could almost pretend he didn't hear it waver. "He deserves to be happy. He should have that."

"So do you, Ells," Daniyel said, grasping her hand briefly. "He'd want that for you too."

She nodded, her face determined, and let her mouth draw into a small smile. Daniyel stepped up to his father's espresso machine and began to fiddle with the knobs. Somehow, they would all have to move forward and leave Hogwarts behind them. But first, coffee.

The container of beans was empty. Almost subconsciously, he pulled out his wand and Summoned a new bag from the pantry. Ella grinned in earnest.

"Let me help you with that," she said brightly, and withdrew the pear wand from her pocket. As long as she had her magic, he reckoned she'd be all right.

And she was, for the most part.

She threw herself into her work, and into practicing her magic, and it kept her busy and inspired, and mostly happy; but she did miss Harry and thought about him constantly. She wondered how he was doing… how his first summer with Sirius had gone, or whether his sixth year was pleasant and uneventful, like he had hoped. She wondered if he'd finally had a good Halloween… and if it was as memorable as the one they'd shared. She carried him around with her everywhere, like an invisible shadow, and when she had a moment to herself she often drifted off, staring into space with glazed eyes, sometimes smiling nostalgically. Sometimes trying not to cry.

"Is it Dan?" her little sister, Eliza, asked her, when she found Ella in such a state, during the days of early rehearsals for _Half Blood Prince._ "Did you guys… break up?"

Startled, Ella glanced away from her vague contemplations of the turning leaves, which were dancing wildly in the wind before coating the drying grass of their backyard with color, and refocused on Eliza.

"Dan?" It seemed to take her mind an age to catch up. "We're not – we weren't dating…"

"Right," Eliza said, disbelief weighing heavily on her tone. "Not dating. Ellie, c'mon, you spent all your time off last year hanging out at his place instead of with me. And now I barely see Dan at all, and you just sit there like a vegetable and stare into space! That's what girls do when they get into break-ups. I've seen it on TV, you know."

"You don't get _into_ a breakup," Ella said, sighing and rolling her eyes. "And Dan and I are just friends, OK? We weren't dating! Don't you have homework to do, or something?"

"All done!" Eliza said brightly. "If you and Dan didn't break up, why do you look like an abandoned puppy?"

Ella sighed, stood up, grabbed her sister round the middle and, despite her squeals and protests, spun her around and dumped her into a pile of leaves their father had raked up just that morning.

"Enjoy!" she said and then ran into the house, now smiling softly to herself; forgetting Harry if but for a moment.

It was easier when they were filming – when she staggered home late in the nights, exhausted from mornings spent studying, and afternoons and evenings spent pretending to be Hermione, even if she _did_ have to watch Daniyel and Becky kissing in the Room of Requirement and doing all sorts of ridiculous things like tying each other's shoes.

As if, she thought, Harry was incapable of putting on his own trainers. By the third take, she had heartily rolled her eyes and resisted the strong urge to jab her wand at Daniyel's laces and tie them into such an aggressive knot, they might've had to cut them off if she succeeded. But she was excellent at bottling up her feelings and storing them away. No one's perfect, she told herself, more often than she would've liked. And it was what you did, not the thoughts that fleetingly crossed your mind outside your control, that defined who you were. And she had chosen, long ago, to do the right thing, always. Like Harry. And either way, it was entirely pointless to be sad or angry about losing him, since she'd known what she was getting into from the start. All she truly wanted was for Harry to be happy back home. She hoped he was, every time she closed her eyes.

But even so, it did suck, and it _did_ make her sad, more often than she wanted to account for. Sometimes, she was so incredibly tired of putting on her brave face and pretending she was entirely all right. But pretending was her job… and she did it well.

Not well enough, however, to fool either Daniyel or Robert, who sat down silently on either side of her as she sat alone in a dark corner of the studio, on the last night of filming _Half Blood Prince_ , absentmindedly poking her wand at a chunk of ice she had grabbed from the ice bucket on the craft table. They watched silently as the ice melted away to reveal several intricately carved towers atop a square building. It looked a bit like a castle…

"Ells," Daniyel said softly, as tiny windows appeared in the wall of the tiny castle. "Come kickboxing with me."

"Kickboxing?" She paused in her contemplation of whether it might actually be easier to stop thinking about Harry if she _wasn't_ on set all the time, or whether it would be harder, since she'd have nothing to occupy herself with.

"Yeah," Daniyel said. "It's loads of fun."

"Sounds… er…" She paused, contemplating it. What _did_ it sound like? Too hard? Not for her? _Should it be for her?_ She aimed her wand at the ice again, until another tower appeared, complete with a fenced in roof deck _. The Astronomy Tower_ , she decided. Hopefully, Harry would never see Dumbledore fall from atop it.

"It's great stress relief," Daniyel said.

"You should go," Robert added.

"I'm not stressed." She looked up from her tiny model of Hogwarts and smiled unconvincingly.

"Maybe not," Robert said, "but you're _sad_ , Ella."

"I'm not–" she began, but Daniyel cut her off.

" _Yes, you are_. And I get it. So am I."

She nodded, her mouth a tight line across her face. _Of course he was._ Was she really so willfully blind?

"I'm so sorry, Dan," she mumbled. "You must think I'm a bit pathetic… it's been over a year, and I'm still thinking about him. I feel so stupid. And after everything you've been through, I'm–"

"It's okay," he said gently. "You're only human."

He leaned his head against hers and she broke off into silence, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. Daniyel had spent nearly six months at Hogwarts. He'd had to say goodbye to countless relationships – had been tortured by Voldemort and watched him die – and yet here he was, comforting her. What was _wrong with her?_ She was stronger than this. She knew she was. She wasn't going to fall apart over some guy, even if that guy _was_ Harry, and she had realized, much too late, that she had fallen entirely in love with him. But wasn't it supposed to get easier as time passed, not harder? Time was the great healer, after all. So why couldn't she forget Harry? Was it because she was still stuck in these halls, day after day? Was it Hogwarts that she needed to leave behind?

"I'll come," she said finally, her voice a little shaky.

"Excellent," Daniyel said. "It's helped me a lot."

"Are you coming too, Rob?" she asked, smiling as she glanced over at him. He had been sitting silently beside her, watched them both with a thoughtful expression.

"No, I don't think so," he said. "You two have things to work out there. I'll be here, though. Waiting."

And she did, indeed, have things to work out. So the following week, after production had wrapped, she followed Daniyel down the steps into the basement of a tall apartment complex in London, which housed the IJKB Gym, and stepped into a small and stuffy room filled with bright floor mats and punching bags slightly leaning over with age, and a pervasive smell of sweat that she eventually learned never faded (though you got used to it).

Daniyel slipped off his baseball cap and sunglasses, and she followed suit, glancing around anxiously, wondering if she should have transfigured her hair or her face; but everyone knew Daniyel here, and they welcomed her readily with smiles. Twenty minutes later, after they finished the warm-up and everyone was still smiling, she decided it was probably because they enjoyed torturing people – or possibly just unsuspecting celebrities.

"Are you trying… to murder me?" she gasped, stumbling after Daniyel as they ran so many laps around the room that she lost count. "I thought this was… kickboxing… not torture class."

He grinned and chose not to answer (or possibly he just couldn't spare the breath to do so, she really couldn't be sure). After they had finished the warm-up, however, and she and Daniyel stood on opposite ends of a shared punching bag, she hit it as hard as she could with her shiny new gloves and realized that this feeling was amazing. Cathartic. With every motion of her arm, she released her frustration, her anger, her sadness, until she could feel nothing but the impact of her fist against the bag, dulled slightly by the glove but still burning through her like an unstoppable force.

It was exhilarating. So she kept coming back, until her gloves were no longer shiny, and she knew how to punch properly with both arms, and how to kick, and how to spend twenty minutes doing an intense warm-up without wanting to die. She looked forward to it even. She and Daniyel sometimes went to Burger King after. Like old times.

Daniyel often smiled as he watched Ella across from him, her hair escaping from her messy bun as she worked tirelessly and sticking to her face in the sweaty brightness of the room. Every time her hand pushed against the bag, he could see just a little bit of her sadness leaving her. She needed it, he realized, because for him, the set was a refuge – a place where he could pretend he was still at Hogwarts, over and over again. He wasn't sure who he would be without it, and that was a problem he'd have to face later, after they finished filming _Hallows_. But for her, he suspected it was a double-edged sword – an escape that was not really an escape, because how could she escape Harry when she was still stuck at Hogwarts?

And that, she came to realize, was _exactly_ the thing that chained her down. It didn't hurt her to use her magic, because it was a part of her, entirely her own; and it didn't hurt her to see Daniyel, whose face looked just like Harry's, because he was her best friend, and she loved him for it. But it _did_ hurt her to walk around the set and pretend she'd never left, because until she did, she didn't think she'd ever be able to leave Harry behind.

And until she could, how could she ever find herself and move forward?

Perhaps, she thought, when they finished shooting _Hallows_ , that would be _her_ new beginning.


	33. Snow

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three:**

_Snow_

.

_October 2009, Muggle London_

_._

There were tears.

They cried, all of them. They stumbled through the crowd like lost children, reaching for each other, holding on tightly, realizing that once they let go, the moment would pass at last. The years would slip away. It was over.

Daniyel had only a jumble of confused impressions from those last few hours. Nine years had passed, and before he knew it, before any of them knew it, the props had been packed, the cameras put away, and their robes finally cast aside. They had done it. The final scene at King's Cross, finished at last. The martini shot. How fitting, to end where it all began.

He heard his name and turned around. Ella and Robert stood behind him, smiling sadly, their eyes glassy.

"I can't believe it's over," Ella said in a choked voice. He barely heard her over the din of the crowd. The station echoed with a hundred conversations and footsteps, and muted applause, and metallic clanging as the crew broke down the lights. They hugged then, all three of them, as if by unspoken agreement. He couldn't begin to say who had initiated it. As he glanced up over their heads and gazed around the crowd, there wasn't a dry eye in sight.

He lowered his face, hiding it, as more and more people joined them, until their group hug pushed and pulled, and threatened to spill over the edge of the platform. He should say something, he thought, as people pressed in around them. They were like a second family, all of them. He should thank them. _He was so thankful for it all_. But he was terrified. Was he really leaving Hogwarts _again?_ What in the world was he supposed to do now?

It was an open future. Wide open.

They found themselves faced with an infinite expanse of days that stretched out limitlessly before them. They were not entirely done with their responsibilities – not yet; there were still premieres to attend, at the very least. But there was an end now, very much in sight. Before they knew it, their seemingly boundless journey had neared the finish line at last, and the holds on them, so few and far between now, had left them somewhat untethered.

Perhaps they were searching for closure, all of them, when they found themselves on the roof of the Community Centre by Daniyel's house. It was Halloween again, and they had slipped back into their robes, because their opportunities for wearing them had suddenly become almost nonexistent. It was early afternoon, and the lot below them was empty. They could hear children making the rounds somewhere in the distance.

"Do you remember that Halloween with Harry?" Ella asked Robert softly as she gazed down at the empty parking lot below.

"Of course," he said. "It was bloody brilliant, wasn't it?"

"The one where you went trick-or-treating, you mean?" Daniyel said, amused. "The neighbors still won't let me live it down, you know. You two have no shame."

Ella and Robert laughed. It felt good to laugh, she thought. It felt brilliant.

"Shame is not a word in my repertoire," she admitted, drawing her hands around her knees, and leveling her gaze at Daniyel's street in the distance. The afternoon seemed to glisten in the sunlight, and for the first time in ages, she felt free.

Very soon, Hogwarts would be behind her. The whole world stretched out before her, and she saw an endless expanse of possibilities. She didn't know what was next, but she was ready to turn the page and start the next chapter of her life at last. She could do anything now, be anything. She could throw herself into work, into new projects. Or she could travel. She could even go to college, like Mrs. Stevens had suggested a lifetime ago. She certainly had all the qualifications for it now. Hell, she could even study calculus. She grinned. Maybe she would finally be able to leave Harry behind. Maybe here, today, three years to the Halloween they spent together, she could finally say goodbye to him.

"Harry and I went to that costume contest after," she said, as if she were simply continuing from her previous thought – as if their conversation had not gone off on a tangent, and she had not spent the last few minutes going through an emotional journey the length of a lifetime. It didn't make her heart clench painfully inside her chest anymore, when she spoke about him. She would say goodbye to Harry today. She could do it. "We lost, would you believe it? To some kids, dressed just like us."

Robert burst out laughing. " _You did not._ "

Daniyel grinned too, shaking his head.

"We did," Ella said seriously. "And then… erm. And then, we climbed up here, to the roof."

She tore her eyes away from the bright landscape and glanced at the two boys sitting beside her, who looked back at her intently. But they didn't speak, didn't interrupt her. So she told them. Everything. Nearly.

Their eyes were filled with understanding, with support, and she smiled, because they were the best friends anyone could ever ask for. And even if their job was done, she knew they would never forget each other or drift apart. Even if they all left London, ended up on different continents, they would be connected, always. They weren't worlds apart, after all. There was no multiverse barrier between them.

"I'm glad it happened," she said. "I'm glad we helped bring him down. And I'm glad I got to know Harry."

"Me too," Robert said, nodding.

"Me too," Daniyel echoed, his voice so soft it almost faded into the wind. "I wouldn't give Hogwarts back for anything."

"Let's make a promise," Ella said. She stood up and glanced down at them as she slipped a hand into her robes and drew out her wand. She felt the pulse of magic run through it, through her, and it filled her with exhilaration and a sense of adventure. It had been three years, and she was at peace with herself at last. "Let's promise, on our magic, that no matter what happens, we'll never lose touch. I couldn't bear to lose either of you."

"All right," Daniyel said, stumbling to his feet as well. He reached into his pocket and drew out his own wand; the wood so pale it nearly glowed in the bright afternoon light. "As if you could ever get rid of me, but OK, let's promise."

They looked expectantly at Robert and he stood up to join them. "Well don't expect me to promise on a wand, but I do have this," he said, and casually drew out the sword Harry had Transfigured for him nearly three years past. Ella raised her eyebrows.

"That can't possibly be legal."

Daniyel let out an amused breath.

"Questionable," Robert admitted. "But it's Halloween!" He pulled it carefully free of its sheath. "The one day a year we can wear these outfits and carry wands from here on out. And, well, just think of this as a wand, but sharper."

Ella rolled her eyes. "Uh huh. But I dunno how you can carry that around. Doesn't it remind you of the battle?" It certainly reminded _her_ of the battle as she glanced at its cruel, sharp edge. It shone brightly in the sun now, the blade untarnished.

Robert shrugged. "It's just a tool… like your wands. It actually reminds me more of Hogwarts. And Harry. It's the one thing I have from him."

"Of course…"

She couldn't argue with that. Not at all. What did she even have from Harry, other than the lingering memory of his touch? She could hardly blame Robert for holding on to his one memento, even if it _was_ likely to get them all arrested.

"So," Daniyel said, "how should we do this?"

"I guess we just, maybe, hold our wands together – and sword! – and promise we'll always stay close? No Unbreakable Vows or anything." She laughed nervously.

"You don't reckon we could make one by accident, I suppose?" Daniyel said, and she suspected he was only half joking.

"Well," she said slowly, "I don't think so… But if we do, I guess we're stuck with each other then."

"Sounds good to me," Robert said. "Friends until we die, or we just die if we stop being friends. Wouldn't have it any other way."

He carefully extended his sword into the circle between them.

"That's true!" Ella said brightly. "Me neither!"

She laid the tip of her wand against Robert's sword. Daniyel tapped his wand to hers.

"You two are my family," he said, smiling, "and I promise that'll never change."

"I promise we'll always be close," Ella said. "Even if we're not always together."

"Friends," Robert said. "Always."

"Always," Daniyel and Ella echoed in unison, smiling nostalgically.

They stood in a silent circle as a soft wind blew across their faces, ruffling their robes. Ella grinned at the two boys before her. She could feel her magic strumming within her, playing like a song upon her heart, and she let it out in a burst, not as force, but as pure feeling. They didn't _need_ magic to hold them together – the magic of their friendship would do that. And she didn't need any special powers to see the future to know that Daniyel and Robert would always be in it. _No matter what._

And Harry… She felt him then, so strongly that she could almost imagine he would be there, standing on the roof beside her, if only she turned around. The memories of him here were so powerful; she felt they could almost take form, if they wanted to. A world without Harry... She realized she didn't want it after all. She would carry him with her. In her heart. Always.

He wouldn't be her weakness, she decided. _He would be her strength._

They turned away in unison, ready to descend the roof and embark on a new adventure at last. She was the only one who turned back.

She had seen it, just out of the corner of her eye. She paused, staring. _How odd_ , she thought. The sun was shining so brilliantly overhead. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. She took a step back, and then another, until she was standing at the edge of the roof, looking down at the parking lot below.

"Ella?" Robert said. "Are you coming?"

She didn't answer. She stared, openmouthed. Her eyes shimmered.

"Ells?" Daniyel asked. "What's up?"

"I–" she said in a choked voice. "I see… _snow_."

"Snow?"

He sounded confused. She heard the sound of their footsteps, barely audible over her breathing. She felt, rather than saw, them draw up beside her, one on either side.

"What…" Robert trailed off, his voice shocked.

She didn't need to ask if they had seen it. The snow. And the thatched roofs, which were coated in it – which had shimmered into being atop the blacktop of the parking lot. The snow fell gently onto a painfully familiar street spread out below them, which certainly had not been there ten minutes past, when she had gazed down in reminiscence. And in the center, she could see…

"The wings," Daniyel breathed.

He thought perhaps his heart had stopped. Perhaps he was dreaming. Hallucinating. Because he couldn't _possibly_ be seeing Hogsmeade stretched out across the parking lot below.

Ella's mind was blank. Shocked. She couldn't reconcile what she was seeing. Had her wish traveled so far? Was it taunting her? Was it a mirage?

"Go," Robert said gently.

They turned to him, their eyes wide, their words caught in their throats. And Robert smiled back at them, because he had watched them suffer in silence for three long years – had watched them cry and pretend they weren't hurting, weren't carrying their pain around like an anchor that constantly threatened to drag them both down with it.

"Not without you," Ella said. She reached out, grasping at both of their hands. "Not without both of you."

Daniyel looked at them both, his eyes full of longing, his voice still lost somewhere within himself. He nodded silently, his hand squeezing Ella's.

"Together," Robert said. Because they had _just_ promised. And he had no idea what would happen next… but he couldn't imagine not joining them on this adventure. He closed his hand around Ella's.

Hogsmeade was shimmering below them.

"Let's go home," Daniyel whispered, finally finding his voice.

Ella nodded, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She reached inside herself to feel the magic, which had been steadily gathering strength within her, threatening to burst out. It was calling out to the snowy village below. It was everywhere. And she knew, in that moment, that it would guide them. Keep them safe.

"Let's." And she let it burst free. It surrounded them, like a glowing light. It was both within her and around her.

Together, they took a single step forward, until the roof vanished from beneath them, and they were rushing toward the village below. And she knew that it would be all right. That they would find their way.

The world glowed momentarily white with a magical energy that felt indescribably familiar, like the embrace of long-forgotten friend. And then their feet touched down gently on the snowy ground. The shops of Hogsmeade stretched around them, warmth spilling out of their doorways in welcome. The tall wings of the memorial towered high overhead, disappearing into the sky.

Daniyel felt his heart thud painfully in his throat as his eyes trailed across the colorful windows of the shops, across the snow-covered wings. _Hogsmeade_ … he hadn't thought he would ever see it again. His mouth was dry, his eyes wet.

But Ella did not have a glance to spare for the street. She turned; perhaps she sensed him behind her, waiting. Harry stood still, staring, his mouth open in surprise. He was not alone; she could sense the others around him. But her eyes saw nothing but green.

She was running before she found her feet. She was in his arms before she remembered moving.

"Ella!" he gasped.

She couldn't speak. There were no words. There were only his arms, around her, and his lips, pressed against her own, tinged with the taste of salt. And snow. Somehow, there was snow.

Daniyel darted after Ella and drew to a halt before Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, who were staring at him in shock.

"We're back!" he said, grinning. He didn't know how, or for how long, but it didn't matter, because they surrounded him. They said his name in surprise, in astonishment. And then Harry was there, and Ella, and Robert, and he knew, as he reached forward to hug them all, as Ginny flung her arms around him, that this was where he belonged – where he had always belonged.

Ella, who was grinning so widely that her face hurt, with Harry's hand grasped tightly in her own, could feel the magic singing inside her, rising to a crescendo. And she realized then that she had tapped into it at last, the very strength of her power. _He was her strength, after all._ And she knew, with absolute certainty, that she could tap into it again – that she had found _the way_ , the path that connected them. And perhaps Dumbledore would have an explanation, or perhaps not, but she knew, with a certainty she could not quite explain, that as long as she loved him, loved Hogwarts, this path would never close.

She didn't have to say goodbye after all. Not to anyone.

And finally Robert – whose heart was _soaring_ because he had never seen them all happier, and he had spent such a long time searching for their smiles – grinned in earnest as they all folded in on each other, stumbling under the combined weight of their embrace.

As he looked out over their heads at the snowy landscape of Hogsmeade, he thought he felt something stir somewhere deep within him – like happiness perhaps, but not quite. Something more concrete. A sense of… belonging. He couldn't see the sword that he had stuffed back into his pocket, but he thought that if he could, perhaps it would be glowing.

With the same soft light that had shimmered into being in the palms of his hands.

_Magic._

He smiled. They had wanted a new adventure… and it was never too late, to go to Hogwarts. Perhaps they'd find a new use for their school robes after all.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys… so much. It's been beyond amazing to share this story with all of you. I wrote TP during one of the hardest moments in my life, and losing myself in this world – this adventure – has been the biggest silver lining. So thank you. Thank you for following, for the kudos, for the sweet comments, and most of all, just for reading. For sticking with it all through to the end. It means the world. Truly. :)
> 
> I do hope you liked the ending. I always wanted Dan, Rob, and Ella to find their way back home to Hogwarts again, and ever since TP inadvertently became a love story, I wanted to give Harry and Ella their happy ending.
> 
> On a related note, I've been making some attempts at a sequel, which is currently in its very early stages. It's mostly plotted out and I do hope it will happen, but I can't say if or when for sure. If you do want to know about it, feel free to follow TP, or me if it's easier, and I'll post something when it's up.
> 
> And if you want something else in the TP Universe, besides [What's in a Name](https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/18067118), check out my other one-shot, [Storytime with Harry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18166931). It's a comedy/parody of the first chapter of TP, in which Harry is telling his kids about the switch, as if it happened to him, in a fairly amusing way. It's a stand-alone thing, set in post CC canon, and it may entertain you! 
> 
> Thank you all again. It's been amazing. Do leave a note if you can! :)
> 
> Rina


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